


Snake Eyes

by somanyfeels



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Arthur Whump, Bandits & Outlaws, Bank Robbery, Childhood Trauma, Drowning, F/M, Family Dynamics, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kidnapping, Poor Arthur, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-11-27 22:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyfeels/pseuds/somanyfeels
Summary: Dutch didn't plan on keeping the boy for long.  Not after he was paid to kill Arthur's father and Hosea gave him a few dollars to get by.  The boy just followed them, grunting and flinching like a kicked dog with nowhere to go.  He may as well teach him to take care of himself, to hunt, read, and be a civilized man.  At least until they find a safe place to drop him off.He spends weeks teaching Arthur to shoot, to hunt, and even to steal.  Little by little Arthur starts coming out of his shell, until a rival gang starts causing more and more problems for their small family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am growing short of RDR2 fics that meet the specific type of pain I'm looking for so here I am writing my own. I had a lovely idea of how Dutch and Hosea found Arthur and decided to go with it.

It was Annabelle who taught Arthur to read.  She was the only one with the patience for it.  Hosea tried but Arthur fumbled over the words again and again and there was only so long he could be stuck on a single word in a book.  Dutch thought he would learn best just being read too, having to listen to the rise and fall of Dutch’s voice as he tried and failed to follow along on the page.  It was Annabelle who sat him down and pointed at the word and drilled into his head what each letter sounded like and what a bunch of them together spelled out.

It was the best way to turn the half feral street orphan into a civilized member of society, taking a boy with no schooling and teaching him to read.  Dutch couldn’t tell if Arthur liked it or not, he hardly got more than a few words out of the boy before he clammed up completely.  Annabelle was the only one who could get him to talk more than a few words and Dutch didn’t know if it was because she was a lady or if it was because he had to read the words aloud.

Dutch watched the scene for a moment.  Annabelle and Arthur skinning a bucket of potatoes as he mumbled from a book sitting on the crate next to him.  His hands moved smoothly, cleanly trimming the skin from the potato while his eyes never left the page, stumbling over sentences about a dog jumping over fences and digging in the yard.  A children’s book they had picked up their last visit into town.

“Arthur!”  Dutch called out, voice carrying over their small camp.  He knew Arthur heard him, a small flinch making his back curl forward just a bit more.  Arthur grunted in answer.  It was that behavior, where the boy looked more like a startled animal than an actual boy, that made Dutch wish he could go back and put that bullet in his daddy all over again.  “Come on, lets go get some meat to go with those potatoes, I’m sure Miss Annabelle can handle the rest of them.”

Arthur turned to Annabelle, his head lifting up only slightly.  “Go on now, I can do a lot with potatoes but nothing like a good rabbit could do for them.”

The boy nodded his head, tucking away his knife and took a few hesitant steps away from the food and towards Dutch.  

In the past weeks since they had picked him up, Arthur’s bruises had healed but his behavior just seemed to get more confusing.  Dutch and Hosea had been hired by a local rancher to kill the petty thief that was stealing from his shed and raped one of his milk maids.  It paid good and Dutch didn’t see a place for men like that in the world.  They followed the tracks, all the way up into the hills where the man had a tent and a boy of maybe fourteen who grunted at them like an animal, gripping his knife like a lifeline as he pointed it at them.

A few weeks without his father and Arthur didn’t look so beaten, he still grunted when being spoken to, but occasionally he would utter a word or two.  And Annabelle was teaching him how to read.  Maybe with enough time they could make a real man out of him and not some wild animal.  Arthur took Hosea’s horse as Dutch climbed onto his and they made their way out of the camp.  It was a lovely evening for it, the sun still high enough to come in through the leaves and made everything it touched glow a soft orange.

“Tell me about your family, Arthur.  Anyone who might be looking for you?”  Dutch asked, glancing over his shoulder at the boy who only shook his head.  “Learn to use your words, son.  Sometimes they’ll get you farther than a gun will.”

Arthur looked up at him, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.  He knew Arthur didn’t realize that by killing his father they had probably saved him, Arthur was just a boy who knew his pa was dead and he was hunting with the man who shot him.

“No, sir.”  Arthur said quickly.

“Your ma?  She got a family?”

It wasn’t that Dutch wanted to get rid of the boy, there was just too much at play.  They all wanted way more in this country than they had and they were carting around a kid who didn’t trust them.  It would be better to get Arthur to people who cared about him, as long as they weren’t the same kind of people his father was.

“She’s dead, sir.”  Arthur said, voice almost getting lost under the sound of their horses.

They slowed down to a casual walk, slow and easy through the trees.  Far from any path and hopefully from any other camps, it was a good ride from their own camp and the lack of people here meant animals had yet to run off.  If they were good and quiet then they might find a few of them.  They crossed over a small stream and Dutch slid off of his saddle.

“I know a few men out West.  Good men, farmers and ranchers in need of a strong set of hands.  It’ll be hard work but you’ll be fed every day.”  Dutch said.  Arthur glanced at him and let out another soft grunt to indicate he had heard.  Dutch sighed, pulling his rifle off his horse and slowly started making his way into the bushes.

Arthur followed, his head ducked low and he put his feet in the exact spots Dutch had walked, not a single sound of a crunched leaf or broken stick.  It was like a ghost was following him, hardly making a sound and Dutch felt a bit of relief that maybe he could teach this boy to be a good hunter, to skin and cook an animal, and then maybe Dutch could leave him in a town, content in knowing that the boy could feed himself.  He had heard of a wagon heading to make a delivery to a bank in a nearby town.  Wagons were easier to rob than banks were, but it would all be easier without a kid trailing along behind them.

There were some birds, fat ones sitting near the water a ways down the stream.  Any one of them would make a good meal with those potatoes and would make more than enough for the four of them.

“Come here, son.”  Dutch said, waving the boy closer.  When Arthur came, he put the rifle in his hands, grabbing them to move them to the proper spots to show him where they were supposed to go.  “Good, now this is how you hold the rife.  You want to tuck it against your shoulder, not in front of your face.  Now this is the important part, don’t ever put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to kill.  Any time you pick up or handle a gun you keep that finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”

Arthur did as he was told, moving his body into a proper stance, using Dutch’s words for guidance.  Even though the boy didn’t speak it was clear he could listen just fine.  He fixed himself with each of Dutch’s instructions, feet shoulder length apart, legs straight but relaxed.  When Arthur held the gun, it was steady, staring down the barrel at the birds sitting by the water peacefully.

Arthur’s father likely never taught him to use a gun.  The man used a knife in his robberies and Arthur had just a knife when he and Hosea found their camp up in the woods.  Dutch doubted the man taught his boy nothing but to be a petty thief and to be scared of his fists and his loud drunken voice that shouted in anger.  It was awkward in Arthur’s hands, but he followed Dutch’s guidance until he was in a good enough position.

“Aim, and when you think you’re ready you squeeze the trigger nice and slow.”  Dutch said.

They stood there a moment.  Arthur’s body still relaxed and holding the position, eyes never leaving the birds.  Dutch waited, giving the boy all the time he needed to figure out how it felt to hold and aim.  Arthur held his breath and a moment later the shot rang out and Dutch tried to look through the flock that immediately took flight to flee.  There, in the dirt an inch from the water, laid a bird.

“Real nice, son.  That looked real nice.”  Dutch said, grinning wide as he plucked the rifle from Arthur’s hands and slung it over his shoulder.

“It was?”  Arthur asked.

Dutch looked down at him, surprised to see the boy actually looking up to meet his eyes.  “Yes it was.  You should be proud, when we get back I’ll be sure to tell Hosea and Annabelle how you got our dinner tonight.  Come on now, I’ll show you how to clean it, Annabelle will show you how to cook it, and we’ll make a hunter out of you yet.”  Dutch reached out and clapped Arthur on the shoulder, ignoring the small flinch in the boy’s body.

It was a decent sized bird, though it was shot through a lot of good meat Dutch didn’t criticize.  For tonight, he wanted Arthur to be proud of his work.  Lord knows Dutch’s first time with a gun hadn’t been any good at all, let alone enough to feed him and three others a good meal.  He gave the bird to Arthur.

“Go on, hold it up.  Show the world what you did.”  Dutch said.  Arthur looked down at the bird and wrinkled his nose, shifting slightly from foot to foot and then glancing up at Dutch.  He only nodded, encouraging Arthur to take some pride in his work.  He held it up, taking a good look at it in front of his face and looking back at Dutch.  “You did that, son.  We’re all going to eat good tonight.”

It was like Arthur had never heard a simple bit of praise before, his cheeks turning a bright pink and his eyes dropping to the ground.  Still, Dutch saw the smile, saw the way Arthur sucked in air through his nose and held the bird tight.

They went back to the horses, Dutch put away his rifle and showed Arthur how to secure the bird to his saddle so it wouldn’t fall off when they rode back to camp.  It seemed that for all things except for reading and talking, Arthur picked up fast.  A natural.  If he was going to look for a good place to drop the boy off, someplace he could get stable work and food without having to be dragged around by a few outlaws, it would have to be work Arthur could do with his hands.  With people patient and kind.

Dutch climbed up onto his horse and Arthur climbed onto Hosea’s, their pace slow and patient as they made their way back towards camp.  The shadows grew long and stretched far over them, the evening sun trying desperately to push the last few rays of light through the trees.  When it got dark, they just followed the light of the fire that came closer and closer.

“I hope you’re ready Annabelle, Arthur shot a lovely bird for your supper tonight.”  Dutch called out as they came into camp, the woman jumping to her feet to come greet them, a pot of potatoes already on the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think. I have a lot of ideas for this and I would love input. If you like it comments might make me write more faster.
> 
> Please all I want are comments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the response of the first chapter!! I'm excited as this is my first piece in the fandom.

They all took a walk into town.  It was a lovely day for it.  Arthur and Annabelle leading them a few feet ahead, their words drifting back.  Dutch and Hosea followed behind, discussing the bank, the wagons that were planning to come in the next few days with brand new, hot from the press dollar bills.  A lot of them, enough to keep them living in comfort, to fund a trip farther out West with all the supplies they would need for the three of them, granted they found a nice place to leave Arthur.

“A-R-T-H-U-R.”  The boy said, looking at whatever Annabelle had scribbled into her book.

“Yes, now what’s it spell?”  She said.

Dutch smiled, watching as Arthur held the book higher, as if the letters would make sense if he saw them at a different angle and in a different light.

“The lady’s getting attached.”  Hosea said.

“She’s a smart woman.  She knows we can’t keep him.  We are not in the business of picking up strays.  I’m sure she would be just fine if we leave him on some farm where he can learn honest work.”  Dutch said.  He had no judgement for those who work hard and honest, who find their own personal freedom so Dutch could buy their wares and supply his own search for it, far from the cities of people who stepped into line.

“He won’t stay in a farm.”  Hosea said.

“That’s his business.  We do all we can but we can’t hand him into his paradise without a little effort on his part.”

“And you think his paradise is working as a farm hand?  Why not just leave him at the ranch his daddy robbed?”  Hosea said with a laugh.

“I said leave him in a safe place, not dump him with people who want to watch him swing.”  Dutch said, shaking his head.

They fell quiet again, listening as Arthur softly muttered the letters over and over again.  It was a puzzle, his own name spelled out in front of him and the boy didn’t even recognize them.  Annabelle had an endless amount of patience, her voice never showing any annoyance as she had him read it again and again, asking him to try and sound it out but getting little results.

They walked into the town, the air smelling sour, horse shit in the streets.  Just as all towns smelled.  Cities were worse, the more people who gathered, the more waste they made and allowed it to poison their air.  Dutch liked the country, liked the sweet smell of flowers and the crisp air that always blew in the wind.  Hosea’s expression pinched as well, making his displeasure clear.

“You two head on down to the General Store, pick us up a few things.”  Dutch said, pulling the money from his pocket to offer it out to Annabelle.

“I have my own money, Dutch.”  She said, smiling at him and shaking his head.

“Well if you take mine, you can get more.  I’m sure you know what shopping needs done.”  He said.

They parted ways, Arthur turning to follow Annabelle without a second thought, always on her heels.  Dutch reached out and clapped Hosea on the shoulder, walking towards the center of the town.  He looked the place over, the buildings and roads washed out of color and even the sky somehow seemed less blue.  A single factory nearby, black smoke billowing from the chimneys and making each breath in taste bitter.

The bank was near the center of the town.  A brick building tucked between more brick buildings, all so close together there wasn’t even an alley to run into and hide in.  The front of the building had large glass windows, showing off the shiny decor inside to any passing beggar without enough money to think about entering.

“That’s the one?”  Hosea asked as they took a seat on a streetside bench across the way.

“The wagon will follow the same road we walked in on.”  Dutch said, reaching up to scratch his chin.

“Not a lotta trees to hide behind.”

“No, but there are plenty of hills.  Imagine it, the looks on their faces as we ride down from above, bearing down on them.  We will have the higher ground.”

“And no cover.”  Hosea said.

Dutch waved the words away.  “If we shoot fast enough, we won’t need cover.  Unless you’re worried your not as quick with the trigger.”

“Why don’t you and I find out then?”  Hosea always sounded so serious, his voice hardly giving away his jokes and Dutch thought that made them even funnier.  It had been a long time since either of them had been in a duel.  No one had the patience for it, to stare at the enemy and had the blind trust to hope they would wait for the count to pull their guns.  Dutch was old fashioned, but maybe he thought if he wanted someone dead he should just kill them.  Still, the mere suggestion that he and Hosea should duel, slinging their revolvers around until one of them was dead, was hilarious.

“Save your bullets for the bank, my friend.”  Dutch said.

He had a plan.  The wagon was expected during the day, which wasn’t as helpful as a wagon by night would be.  Dutch and Hosea could sneak right up to it that way, slipping in through the dark.  But someone must have known that and set the wagon on a path of little cover and plenty of daylight.  He wasn’t worried though.  He had watched the rise and fall of the hills during the walk in, which ones seemed just high enough to hide behind and which ones were low enough for the run to the wagon to be short and fast.

Hosea had ideas, a strategy.  Dutch’s info stated there would be four men with the wagon, but Hosea wanted to plan for the possibility of more.  If there were a dozen men, then they would need more guns and more bullets, they would have to be accurate and fast.  A dozen men would mean they would have to kill six men each while trying not to get shot.

“If Arthur was better with a gun we could bring him with us.”  Hosea said.

“Arthur?  I’m starting to think that boy is as shallow minded as they come.  Besides, he don’t know how to shoot.”  Dutch said.

Hosea leaned forward on the bench, resting his elbows on his legs as he stared at the bank across the way.  They would have to get the wagon before it got into town, where the law and the bankers would be waiting to retrieve it.

“We have a few days before the delivery.  He shot that bird just fine with the right direction.  Maybe he’s a fast learner, just not with the book learning.”  Hosea said, smiling slightly.

“If you want to give him a gun and show him how to use it, be my guest.  I’m sure he’s just waiting to kill us all in our sleep.”  Dutch said.  There was a wildness in the boy’s eyes, wide and half gone.  The look had been there since Dutch shot his father, leaving Arthur kneeling in the dirt, hands bloody as he touched the man.

“You taught him to shoot already.”

“I taught him to hunt.  You want to teach him to kill.”  Dutch said.

Hosea shrugged.  “Just a suggestion.  Three guns are better than two.”

“Not if the third gun is trying to kill you.”  Dutch said.

If Dutch was in Arthur’s shoes, following the men who gunned down his father in front of his own eyes because he had nowhere else to go, he would be seething with rage, with that overwhelmingly human desire for revenge.  Arthur was in quite a state when they met, when he held out his knife to protect himself against his father’s killers, the bruises had been vivid and clear.  The signs of fists and squeezing hands on the boy’s face, neck, and arms were there long before they came and they had faded every since.  Even if Dutch had no respect for a father and a criminal like that, too keen on hurting others, it didn’t mean some part of Arthur wanted revenge.

“I’ll talk to the boy.  No matter what we do with him, a man needs to defend himself in this world.  He needs to learn to shoot.”  Hosea said, firm and unyielding.  He leaned back, meeting Dutch’s eye.

“Fine.  If you’re so insistent on it.  Just make sure he doesn’t point that gun at me.”  Dutch said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hosea shook his head, looking up and down the road as they waited for Annabelle and Arthur to finish with their shopping.  They had looked over the bank, had made a stable enough plan for their path and their hideout for the robbery.  Now there was nothing left to do but enjoy the sun and the warmth and then get the hell out of the town.

It didn’t take long.  Ten minutes at most and Annabelle and Arthur came strolling down the sidewalk with a few bags in hand.  Some medicines, clothes and ointments, combs and soap.  Things they couldn’t find in the woods, or along the roads, or in the rivers or streams.  There were a few things man had to make, not nature.

Dutch stood up to greet them, offering an easy smile as he reached out and plucked the bag from Annabelle’s arms.  He leaned in, pressing his lips to her cheek and feeling the soft skin warm up at the touch.  She pulled away with a smile.  Dutch turned to greet Arthur, surprised to already find the boy looking straight at him instead of at the ground.  His eyes drifted from Dutch to Annabelle curiously, and then back towards the ground where they always looked.

“Did you two have a nice time shopping?”  Dutch asked, looking into the bag.  A few covered packages, but he didn’t see any surprises.

“We had a lovely time.  For once it was nice having a companion not wander off to the booze.  Arthur was always there to hold anything I needed him to carry like a true gentleman.”  Annabelle said, her hands settling on her hips as she pinned Dutch with a look.

Hosea stood, arms outstretched to take the bag from Arthur but the boy held it tighter, turning away slightly.  He held onto it, Arthur practically hugging it to his chest and not looking too inclined to let it go.  Dutch and Annabelle made their way down the road, ahead of the other two, leading them out.  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they followed.  Hosea walked close to Arthur, head turned towards him as he talked quietly.  Arthur just stared at the ground in front of him, watching where he put his feet and still carrying the bag.

Annabelle slid an arm into Dutch’s, elbow locked against his as they walked together.  Sometimes it was so easy to tell when she was deep in thought, the creases of her forehead a bit more pronounced and her lips slightly pursed.  Dutch knew better than to ask.  If she wanted to talk she would.

And she did.

“He’s a sweet boy.”  She said as they left town, passing the wooden entrance way, the sign swinging in the wind.  “You never told me where he came from.”

“I did.  He followed us.”  Dutch said and looked over his shoulder.  There he was, still following, head turned slightly towards Hosea as the man spoke to him.  They were falling behind, but Dutch didn’t slow down to meet them.  If Hosea wanted to try and talk to the boy he wasn’t going to interrupt.

“Oh yes, a perfectly normal set of circumstances where some quiet, beat up, and half starved teenager just followed behind you all the way back home.  What happened to him?”  She asked, her grip on his arm tight.

“It ain’t our business what happened to him.  He’s here now and he’s safe for as long as he chooses to be.”  Dutch said.

Annabelle’s face pinched up, the creases of her forehead deepening the more she thought.  “You men didn’t do all that to him, did you?”

Dutch grimaced at the thought.  “No, Annabelle.  We didn’t.  We found him like that, he was an orphan, and all Hosea did was give the boy a handful of dollars.  Then, like a street dog you throw scraps too, he just started following us home.  That’s the end of it.”  He said.  Annabelle was curious by nature and too stubborn to be satisfied with anything other than straight answers.  She would ask again, but for now she just hummed and nodded.

He was aware that it could be an issue later on.  She was a kind woman, cared too much.  And if she got attached to Arthur then it would be even harder to drop him somewhere safe, to leave him anywhere at all.  He looked back over his shoulder and saw Arthur talking to Hosea, not just paying attention to him, but his mouth moving to say something.  A full sentence by the looks of it and Dutch was disappointed he was too far back to hear what it was.

Dutch hadn’t been able to get Arthur to say much the past few weeks, let alone sentences.  Hardly anything more complex that a simple ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’ had ever come out of his mouth.  He turned back to face forward, wondering if perhaps it was just him Arthur didn’t want to talk to.  He was the murderer after all, the one who pulled the trigger.

“Dutch, do you know them?”  Annabelle whispered to him, nodding off to their left.

Up on top of the hills that ran alongside the road, there were three men looking down at them from their horses.  It was hard to see, with the sun in his eyes.  Dutch didn’t like being watched, not by strangers, not when it was supposed to be just a pleasant walk with Annabelle to and from town.  A moment later, the three riders turned, disappearing behind the crest of the hill.

“Keep your eyes out for them.”  Dutch said to her.  He turned back, Arthur’s mouth snapping shut as soon as Dutch called back to them.  “Hosea, be sure to keep a lookout for strangers.”

Hosea nodded, his eyes scanning the hills as well.  It could just be local farmers on a ride, strolling the land and patrolling the roads.  It could be nothing to worry about.  But this was the road Dutch and Hosea were planning to catch the bank’s wagon on and the last thing he wanted was more people poking around in the area.

They didn’t see anyone else as they made it down the road, taking a right into the woods and disappearing into the trees.  Dutch waited a moment, listened and watched and the only people he saw and heard were Hosea and Arthur, who he sent on ahead.  It didn’t look like they were being followed, the longer he waited the more sure of it he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dutch is planning a robbery, Arthur is distant, and hopefully it all works out fine.
> 
> Thank you for your comments last chapter. I got excited for each one.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur was good with a gun.  He held it steady, took his time as he got used to aiming, and shifted his stance as Hosea instructed.  Dutch and Annabelle came with, sitting by the lake as Arthur aimed at the makeshift targets Hosea roped up.  A few shots to get used to it, the feeling of the gun, holding it and firing it. Then he wasn’t missing, even when Hosea moved the targets around.

 

Dutch watched, curious and thoughtful, because Hosea would use this to try and convince him to let Arthur in on the job, robbing a bank wagon.  It was rather ridiculous, there wasn’t enough time to get the boy ready, let alone agree with it. They had done small jobs, robberies, bodyguard work, and killing more men when people with money wanted them dead.  Nothing big, nothing that made them rich but also there was no reason to get Arthur involved. The reason their small gang worked was that he and Hosea trusted each other. Dutch didn’t trust Arthur, not entirely.

 

Hosea clapped the boy on the back, leaning in close to offer his assurances.  Arthur definitely had talent for shooting. Annabelle squeezed Dutch’s arm harder, humming softly, but when Dutch looked over to her she was just watching the water.

 

“What?”  He asked.

 

She shook her head and hummed again.  “Nothing, Dutch.” She said, not even blinking as she stared ahead.

 

“Fine, Annabelle.  I guess it’s nothing.”  He said, turning to stare at the lake as well, scanning the water for anything of interest he could latch his attention onto.

 

He didn’t need to wait long, just a few seconds and Annabelle turned to look at him and leaned in close.  “I know that look on your face. I know when you’re thinking and it’s not hard to know what you’re thinking.”  She said quickly, holding his gaze and lot letting him escape it. “You want to take that boy with you and I won’t have it.  No one will miss that money but that boy is sweet, I don’t want him dragged into any gunfights.”

 

“Gunfights?  He barely looks fourteen, he’s barely still a boy but a boy none the less.  I won’t drag him to any gunfights.” Dutch said. He was already hesitant of the idea, so he didn’t think Annabelle should worry any.

 

“So Hosea just wants to teach Arthur to shoot while you boys plan your job?  You can’t trick me Mr. Van der Linde. Hunting is one thing, robbing is another.  I almost got that boy reading proper, don’t ruin his chances at a real, civilized life.”

 

“Civilized?  Are you saying we aren’t civilized?”  Dutch asked. He brought his hand to his chest and then waved it around at everything around them.  “Sometimes I think we’re the only civilized people left.”

 

“Whatever you say, Dutch.  I’m not here to question your ideas I’m trying to tell you not to take that boy on a robbery.  He ends up with a bounty and it won’t be long before they hang him. I’m scared they’ll hang all of us one day.”  She said, her voice growing lower and lower until she fell into a whisper.

 

He hadn’t realized that was a worry of hers.  That in the end of it all their lifestyles were leading them straight to the gallows and here she was asking him not to drag Arthur to that fate with them.  He reached out to her, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her forehead.

 

“Annabelle, my darling. I promise you Arthur, none of us, will ever end up swinging.  We will all live long and happy, rich off of plucking from those lying corrupt factories and politicians and all their banks.  We’ll slip away out West. I promise.” He said to her.

 

The long arm of the government could go far but it couldn’t reach all the way to the West, as far out as the land could go.  They could find the ocean again, have a farm tucked away in that faraway countryside, free from danger. They just needed money to get that way, for supplies, land, and equipment to build and live free.  He didn’t intend to drag Arthur the whole way with them.

 

“I promise, okay?  Arthur will not share our fate and I also promise our lives will end up happy and fulfilling.  Don’t be so morbid. No one will hang.” Dutch said, holding her close so he could comfort her.

 

The lake was beautiful, tucked away in the woods and far away from those big industrial buildings with their black smoke flowing out of the factories and the stench of human shit.  This place was the opposite of a city, clean and beautiful. Land like this was good for all of them.

 

He had told Annabelle before, his plan was to find a nice farm or a gentle town somewhere on their way and leave Arthur with a place to sleep and a job to get settled.  A ranch perhaps. And then they could continue on their way. Dutch still thought they should follow that plan. 

 

After a gunshot sounded Hosea let out a loud laugh, squealing with excitement.  Dutch looked back, seeing the man grab Arthur by the shoulders and shake him playfully.  Arthur flinched, he always did, but then he relaxed moment later. Hose was clapping him on the back and when Arthur turned to look up at the man, Dutch saw his smile stretched across his face.

 

It was an easy day, all of them enjoying the sun for as long as the day would allow.  The gunshots seemed to disappear into the background, just those two boys off by the trees enjoying the day in their own way, but here by the water it was just Dutch and Annabelle.  Just the two of them with their toes in the water. The rest of the world could just slip away, it wasn’t often Dutch got a vacation from the rest of the world.

 

It was another hour by the time Hosea got bored of Arthur wasting bullets into the sides of stick bundles and targets made of cloth.  The boy could shoot, it was decided. There was no denying it and Dutch had to come back to the world and remember how dangerous that was as well.

 

Dutch, Hosea, and Annabelle each had a horse.  Arthur had close to nothing. Nothing except what he had carried in his pockets when he followed them back.  He didn’t have a horse. Arthur had rode in that morning on Annabelle’s and she had rode with Dutch.

 

“Arthur, you and Annabelle ride along ahead.  Hosea and I have business we need to discuss.”  Dutch said.

 

Annabelle raised an eyebrow, but Arthur simply nodded and climbed onto the horse first and then leaned over to offer the lady his hand to help her climb up.  His grip was strong and Annabelle had no trouble getting up and settled on the back of the saddle.

 

“Don’t let anything happen to her.  Okay, Arthur?” Dutch said, climbing up onto his horse and Hosea doing the same.

 

“Yes, sir.”  Arthur nodded.

 

Hosea hadn’t let Arthur walk off with any of his revolvers.  Dutch knew the boy didn’t need a gun, not yet. He had his knife and Dutch had no doubt that he would keep her safe.  He didn’t trust Arthur. It was the simplest way to view it. Something clenched tight in the pit of his stomach and second guessed letting them ride off together.  But Arthur sat through all of Annabelle’s reading lessons and spoke to her the most, helped her onto the saddle and hummed as she sang her riding songs.

 

They waited a few minutes, letting the two of them get are enough ahead that they could no longer see them.  They rode slow, a casual stroll that they were surely getting left behind more and more. The woods were private, they could talk about anything they needed and there would be no witnesses to anything.

 

“He’s a good shot.  The boy could be useful.”  Hosea said.

 

“Out of the question.  Arthur isn’t going with us.  Shooting at targets sitting still isn’t the same at firing at people who are firing back as you steal money from them.  It’s too soon. The wagon comes tomorrow.” Dutch said quickly.

 

“He would stay on the hill, no one would even see him there, he shoots at them and they shoot at us.”  Hosea said, waving his hand a bit, gesturing at an imaginary scene in front of him.

 

“He won’t be doing any shooting.  He’s not ready for that. We can’t ask him to go out there and shoot at people for us.  I can’t trust him to do that yet.” Dutch said.

 

He wouldn't send Arthur out there.  They wouldn’t bring him robbing with them.  Not to that wagon where the road had little cover except for the hills.  Full of newly printed money and left out in the open for them to snatch away if they could just get to it.  He had to be able to do it without worrying about someone pointing a gun at him when he was expecting cover.

 

“If you insist on him going, you can count me out.  I’m willing to risk a lot for goals, for our partnership, but not when I can’t trust our own men.”  Dutch said, laying down his ultimatum. 

 

Hosea was quiet, his face deep in a set frown and eyes steadily forward.  Dutch let the man think for as long as he wanted. He let the rest of the ride fall into silence.  Dutch wasn’t worried. No amount of beginners luck with a gun would replace a tested, trusted friend when on a job.

 

Dutch and Hosea rode back into camp and he smiled when they saw Annabelle’s horse tied to the post.  He saw smoke from the fire rising up above the tents and Dutch hummed at the thought of her cooking so early, wondering if they would have an early supper or if whatever she was making was just going to take a long time to get done. Whatever thinking was still needed to be done, it could be done over supper.

 

He and Hosea tied off their horses and got what they needed from their saddles before making their way around the few tents towards the fire.  Dutch opened his mouth, ready to call out to the woman and then froze in his spot. Four men, all strangers, lingered around their camp. One stood by Annabelle near the fire, one sat with Arthur on a turned over log, and the other two stood off to the back, peering curiously at the bags and supplies they had sitting out.

 

“I didn’t know we were expecting guests.”  Dutch said, loud and firm as he eyed the men and the guns sitting on their belts.

 

The man next to Annabelle raised his hands, empty of all weapons, before walking around her towards Dutch.  “There are the men of the camp. We thought we would stop in and visit the guests we have lingering in our area, be neighborly and such.”  The man said. Dutch looked over the man’s shoulder at Annabelle, who just shook her head. Arthur watched him, eyes wide as the man next to him offered a cigarette.  It was hard to tell if the boy was afraid or not.

 

“Had I known we were expected then we wouldn’t have delayed, my apologies.  To what do I owe the pleasure? Mr?” Dutch said, stepping forward to take the man’s hand and shake firmly.  There were strangers in his camp, standing next to his woman and looking at his things. A stranger who was playing friendly and so Dutch was friendly in return, despite the anger he felt pooling hot and acidic in his belly.

 

“Mr. O’Driscoll.  Colm O’Driscoll. Me, my brother, and my boys here have noticed you guys camping out in the area for a while and wanted to make sure you knew the rules around here.  Small things to make your stay as comfortable as possible.” The man said, pointing at each of the others as he pointed them out. His brother, the man sitting next to Arthur, tipped his cap and brought a match to the cigarette that was now resting between Arthur’s lips.

 

“Hosea, why don’t you help Annabelle with supper while Colm and I get acquainted.  We shouldn’t be long.” Dutch said.

 

Hosea didn’t waste time to answer, he just strolled up to where she was by the fire and offered to help.  Dutch and Colm walked back towards where their horses were tied. He didn’t see where the O’Driscoll horses were hitched, but it was probably somewhere nearby.

 

“I hope you don’t mind our intrusion.  Your Annabelle just seemed like she made a good supper.  My boys were hungry.” O’Driscoll said, hands in his belt loops, fingers brushed over his revolver.

 

“They sell good food at the saloon in town.  Certainly food isn’t why you’re here.” Dutch said calmly.

 

O’Driscoll smiled, nodding along slowly.  “I didn’t know her name was Annabelle. She wouldn’t say, but one of my men thought she was so lovely.  He reached out to touch that soft, pretty hair of hers and your boy nearly sliced his fingers off with a knife.  You’ll have to forgive Alex, his hand did wander, just like I forgave that boy for his transgression. I certainly didn’t string him up and gut him like a pig, but lord knows I should have.”

 

Colm O’Driscoll was a fast talker, he seemed so sure of his words, a confidence to them even though they came out rough and missing a charisma that came with book learning.  He sounded like a drunk who had never been told to shut up before and thus started to feel too important for his own good.

 

Here he was, all in a few sentences, telling Dutch that he could have killed everyone.  He was implying what his men wanted with Annabelle and what they wanted to do with Arthur for getting in their way.  It was a threat made out to be a friendly gesture.

 

“I’ll have a talk with my boy about his manners and you talk to your boys about theirs.”  Dutch said. He stood a bit straighter, not letting his gaze waiver from Colm’s eyes. “Now did you just come to visit so you could mistreat my people and then commit and forgive transgressions?”

 

“I came to name the rules like I told you I was.  If you want to keep your people you should be sure to listen.”  O’Driscoll said quickly, a hand going up to point at Dutch’s chest.  “You keep to yourselves and we will keep to our own. No more of your gunfire, no more of your country walks.  Stay in camp and then move on. And you would be smart to keep off our roads. We have a few things coming in that you would be dumb to wander in on.”

 

Colm O’Driscoll had no natural talent for speaking.  His words weren’t one to move people with his prose and give out clear messages in his speaking.  But he had a way of sounding threatening when he wanted to. He was telling Dutch to stay off the road, he had a job planned. The O’Driscolls wanted the bank’s wagon.

 

“Nothing to worry about.  We were just planning on leaving.”  Dutch said, seeing a fight not worth the effort of the reward.  But he also saw another opportunity, a new plan making itself known.

 

He kept his mouth shut as Colm went to collect his men.  He smiled friendly enough until they were gone. The pit in his stomach turned away from fear to just plain anger at the audacity of that man to come in here and threaten his camp and his people.

 

“Start packing the camp.  We need to move closer to town.”  Dutch said. Hosea stood and watched him, Annabelle stayed by the fire, and Arthur stood to start work, the cigarette glowing on his lips.  “Did they give that to you, Arthur?” He called out.

 

Arthur paused, the ember in the end glowing brighter as he took a long drag.  “Yes, sir. A whole pack.” Arthur said.

 

Dutch nodded, watching as Arthur slowly met his eyes.  “And is it true you sliced off one man's fingers?” He asked.

 

Arthur shook his head.  “No, sir.” He said. He paused, reaching up to pluck the thing from his mouth.  “They were still attached a little bit.” He said.

 

Dutch nodded, smiling to himself and shaking his head.  A lot of his fear was gone now, somewhat relieved and angry at the same time.  And whatever feeling Arthur had for him had been moved to the back of his mind.  “You did a fine job today, son.” Dutch said, sending Arthur on his way to get the camp ready for the move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting of Colm and Callum O'Driscoll with Dutch Van Der Linde. Im sure it'll be the start of a beautiful friendship.  
> Arthur has a delicate system if trust built up. He likes Annabelle and it seems like he likes Hosea. His loyalty to Dutch might just rely in those two.
> 
> Thank you for the comments. Its nice to know what you guys think and if you all like it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are suspicious of the right things for the wrong reasons

They moved their horses through the woods, taking the long way around towards the town.  The O’Driscoll and his boys had been watching the roads and Colm had insisted Dutch keep away from them.  So they slowly lead the horses through the trees, heads slightly bowed and eyes watching. If Dutch had any luck at all, the O’Driscolls would even notice they had moved.

 

The forest got thinner and thinner the closest they got to the town, stumps that had been chopped down for lumber started to pop up among the still tall and intact ones until they could see the edge of the woods and saw no trees at all.  They were so close to the town they saw the pillars of smoke coming up from a few dozen chimneys. Dutch had them pull back, a mile back into the woods and set up camp among a small patch of tree stumps.

 

Arthur helped unload the horses, following Annabelle’s direction on where to put the two tents.  One for her and Annabelle, one for Hosea, and Arthur was free to make his pallet wherever he thought was comfortable.  Dutch pulled Hosea away, ushering him back towards the deeper part of the woods.

 

“What’s the news on our afternoon visitors?”  Hosea asked.

 

“Well, Colm appeared to be in charge of those men and he very kindly asked me to stay off the roads for a while.”  Dutch said.

 

“Stay off the roads?”

 

“Yes, friend.  So my assumption is he wants the bank’s wagon.  For all the trouble it would seem to be now, I say we let him have it.  But, I have a plan. As word gets back about a group of men robbing the bank wagon down the road, they’ll send as many riders as they can, sending them off to chase the men.  So we can slip into town while they have their shootout and their chase down the road and through the hills, and just rob the bank.” Dutch said.

 

Buildings came with their own cover if it turned into a shootout.  They didn’t need to worry about trees when they could duck behind a wall or a cabinet just as well.  They would be threatening bankers on the job, not hired guns sent to escort the money. Banks were always so certain of their own security, of the strength of their vaults and their locked doors.  They relied too heavily on the sheriff and his men, who would all be lured down the road to the O’Driscolls.

 

“You want to use them as a distraction.”  Hosea said, shifting on his feet, his eyes scanning the trees as the idea settled.

 

“They’re already robbing the wagon of their own accord, we won’t be interfering in any way.  We will simply be seizing an opportunity.” Dutch said.

 

Banks carried more money than any of them knew what to do with.  Hoarded by the bankers, by their businessmen clients and their wealthy industrialists who build their factories, chopping and burning the forests and casting everyone in dust.  Dutch didn’t hate many things, but he believed this industrial age would be the end of people. It corrupted people, getting that little bit of money, made them want more and more until they were driven mad by it.  Dutch was doing a service, taking it off their hands and redistributing it. 

 

“I assume you still want Arthur to stay behind?”  Hosea said.

 

Dutch nodded.  “Yes, especially now.  If those men find our new camp I don’t want Annabelle here all alone.  Arthur will stay with her.” Dutch said.

 

He looked back towards their new camp.  To Annabelle dishing out the supper she had finished hours ago before they quickly packed to leave.  It was cold now, but Arthur still seemed eager to eat. The tents were set up, everything they had sitting neatly around the camp, and Arthur rewarded himself with a seat on a short tree stump and a bowl of cold stew, his body hunched over it as he ate greedily.

 

He no longer doubted that Arthur would take care of Annabelle.  The two of them had been outnumbered today, riding into camp and met by four men, strangers with horses and guns.  And when one of them tried to touch her Arthur sliced at them. Although he had silently threatened them with it, gripping it tight as he watched them, if they came too close, behaviors that slowly disappeared as days passed, none of them had ever seen Arthur actually use it.  And he was rewarded with a pack of cigarettes and the threats of being ‘gutted like a pig’ as the O’Driscoll had said, both came from the same people.

 

It didn’t sit right with him.  They had ridden into camp earlier and saw the man sitting close to Arthur, another standing by Annabelle, both of them talking too low.  The O’Driscoll brothers wanted something and it was probably more than just to tell them to keep off the road.

 

He clapped Hosea on the shoulder and the man marched back into camp, grabbing a bowl and spoon and meeting Annabelle for his helping of cold stew.  Hosea sat down on a stump and Dutch watched, still standing where Hosea had left him, as Arthur pulled his bowl closer to his chest and turned slightly away from the man.

 

“Arthur!”  Dutch called out.  The boy hesitated, body going stiff and tense, leaning over his bowl a bit more as he lifted his head up to look back at Dutch.  “Arthur, come here a moment.”

 

Arthur stood up, looking back down at the stump he had been sitting on, and hesitating again.  Dutch stuck his hands in his pockets and watched, patiently waiting for Arthur to scamper over, bowl still held tightly in his hands.

 

“You can put it down, I just want to talk.”  Dutch said as Arthur stopped a few feet away from him.

 

“No, I want it.”  Arthur said. He wasn’t going to let it go.

 

Dutch frowned.  It was hard to tell sometimes, if Arthur was being disrespectful or if he had other things on his mind, other reasons for his eccentricities.  Arthur wasn’t looking him in the eyes, but he was standing mostly straight. His feet were solid in the ground instead of the fidgeting and the swaying he used to do.  There was a bit more certainty in Arthur’s stance.

 

“Are you afraid I’ll take the food away from you?  I promise, you can keep eating once I’m done talking to you.”  Dutch said.

 

Arthur looked up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment and then letting his eyes drop back down to his bowl.  “Am I in trouble?” He asked.

 

“What would you be in trouble for?”

 

“Letting those men into the camp.  I didn’t know they were there, but Annabelle’s fine.  The one guy just wanted to touch her hair, said it was pretty.  I did what you said.” Arthur said, fast and stumbling over his words.  He still stood up straight and steady, but he didn’t look up again.

 

“You did do what I said.  You took care of her.” Dutch said slowly.  Arthur was tense, his body stiff. Dutch stood still, his hands still tucked in his pockets.  “Anything else those men said or did?”

 

“After I cut one of them, he grabbed me by the neck and I tried to cut him again.  Mr. O’Driscoll settled us down.” Arthur said. He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t get hurt none, nothing happened.”

 

“Colm O’Driscoll?”

 

Arthur shook his head.  “No, the other one. Said his name was Callum.”

 

Dutch hummed.  “Callum O’Driscoll.”  The name rolled off of his tongue and he wrinkled his nose.  It seemed almost as sour as Colm did. Two rotten men, in a rotten gang, that had no business near his people.  “Was he the one who was sitting with you?”

 

Arthur nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

 

“And what did he say to you?”  Dutch asked. Arthur grunted, shrugging his shoulders.  “No more of that grunting, you’re a human being so speak like one.”

 

“I thought he was going to threaten me.  Or beat me, I guess. Didn’t do either. Just talked to me.”  Arthur said. He kept looking down at his bowl, back straight, his knuckles white from how hard he was holding it.  Dutch waited and Arthur elaborated further. “He said I was good with a knife. I didn’t say nothing. He asked if I was good with a gun, I didn’t say nothing either.”

 

“He seemed like a talkative.  I’m proud of you for keeping quiet.”  Dutch said.

 

“I…”  Arthur started, his nose wrinkling as the words halted on his mouth.  “I did say a few things. He asked which one of you were my daddy and I said neither.  He asked if Annabelle was my mama, and I said no. He asked why we were here, but I didn’t say anything.”

 

Dutch pulled his hand from his pocket to reach up and stroke his chin, but the movement caused Arthur to flinch.  A full body jerk as the boy pulled his bowl close, stew splashing up the side and spilling onto his shirt, and Arthur’s head turning away.  He didn’t say anything, just shifted from foot to foot. The steady, certain stillness in his body had vanished. Once again, Arthur’s energy, whether it be youthful or fearful, was causing him to fidget.

 

“You’re alright, Arthur.  Like I said, you’re not in any trouble.  I just want to know why they were here.” Dutch said slowly.

 

Arthur huffed, blowing a rush of air out of his nose.  He turned, leaning down to put his bowl on the ground near him, rustling until it sat even.  Arthur then dug into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he had been given earlier.

 

Dutch waited, but the longer he stood there, silent and patient, the more uncomfortable Arthur seemed to get.  The cigarette glowed as their new edge of the woods grew darker. It had taken most of the evening to get here and Dutch refused to let the day end until he knew if they were in danger or not.

 

“That was all they said?”  Dutch asked.

 

Arthur didn't look up, he just sucked in his cigarette and let out a fast gust of smoke as he exhaled.

 

“Yes, sir.”  Arthur said. 

 

Dutch leaned forward.  “That was all they said?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Nothing else about me and Hosea?”  Dutch spoke slow, his words patient, trying to coax more out of Arthur.  The boy just shook his head. Dutch pressed. “Nothing about Annabelle?”

 

Arthur shook his head.

 

“They didn't ask about our camp?”

 

Arthur shook his head.

 

“Where we came from?”

 

A shake of the head.

 

“Did he ask about you?  He was talking to you what did he say?”  Dutch said. He gestured, the need to push the words out and get answers.  It was just a wave of the hand to punctuate his words and Arthur flinched again.

 

Dutch realized how close he had gotten, a few steps closer to Arthur than he had been in the beginning.  The boy himself had stayed perfectly still, any confidence Dutch had seen before had left his body. He was slightly hunched, eyes downcast, cigarette dangling from his lips.  He was afraid. He was waiting.

 

“Listen to me, son.  You are not in trouble.  Nothing is going to happen.  I just need to know of Hosea, Annabelle, or myself are in any danger.  Is there anything you're not telling me?” Dutch asked, his hands limp at his side.  

 

Being aggressive with the boy, scaring him, had never crossed his mind.  Yet it happened anyway. Whatever it was exactly that Arthur was expecting, Dutch could only imagine.  He couldn't blame him. There were enough bad people in the world that everyone should be afraid. Dutch couldn't blame Arthur for thinking he was a bad man ready to hurt him for not answering every question that jumped from his mouth.  It was an assumption Dutch had brought on himself.

 

He waited until Arthur's breathing slowed down and evened out.  He waited until the grow of Arthur’s cigarette burned out. Until the back and forth swaying, the fidgeting, the nervousness died down bit by bit.

 

“He didn’t ask anything else about any of that.”  Arthur said.

 

Dutch smiled and nodded and took a step back from Arthur.  “Thank you, son. Thank you. That’s all I needed.”

 

Arthur almost seemed relieved, the tensions dropping from his shoulders.  He gasped, like he was holding his breath, waiting himself for some beating that Dutch was not going to give him.  It wasn’t fair that Dutch only got to shoot Arthur’s father the one time.

 

Arthur relit his cigarette and turned to pick up his bowl again, still sitting snugly in the grass where he left it.  There was a very slight smile on his lips, hard to see in the dark as Arthur’s head kept turning away, but it lit up as each drag of the cigarette lit up the boy’s features in a red glow.

 

“One more thing.”  Dutch said, keeping his hands still.  “Hosea and I have to go into town tomorrow.  It’ll be for a while, we have some important business we need to tend to.  I don’t think they followed our camp, but in case they show up I need to know you will keep Annabelle safe.  She’s very precious to me, you understand.”

 

Arthur nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

 

Dutch hummed.  He should be happy he was able to get so many sentences out of Arthur to begin with.  There had been hints that the boy was always capable of speaking, just not so much and not at him.  If they were back at small gestures and simple yes and no answers, then it was disappointing to know that Dutch had opened communication with Arthur and then ruined it without realizing.  But some things couldn’t be changed or helped. Arthur will talk to him again, Dutch would just have to be more careful.

 

He slowly plucked a revolver from his belt, holding it delicately as he slowly held it out to Arthur.  “You’re a good shot, just remember what I taught you, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot.  You be prepared for everything that will happen after.” He held the gun up, showing his finger over the trigger guard, safe and easy.  Arthur watched, eyes pinned to Dutch’s hand as he then held the gun out to him. “Be careful with it. If anyone comes to hurt you guys, you protect our camp.  I’m trusting you with this, okay?”

 

It could be a mistake.  Arthur was afraid of him, so there was no telling what he would do once he got it.  He could lift it up and aim it at Dutch’s head, fire and kill him, avenge that monster of a father who didn’t deserve Arthur’s loyalty.

 

“Yes, sir.  I’ll keep her safe.”  Arthur said, hand reaching up to take it.  After it was handed off, Dutch waited, he watched.  Arthur simply tucked it into his belt and looked back at the campfire, where Hosea and Annabelle were waiting.

 

“Go finish your supper, get cleaned up, and get some rest.  Thank you for sharing. Those O’Driscolls don’t sit right with me.”  Dutch said, stepping around Arthur to head back towards camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down and here we have established some communication between Arthur and Dutch, a bit of urgency in their percieved threats, and we will see how the bank robbery goes. Hope the O'Driscolls dont mind


	5. Chapter 5

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery.”  Dutch said calmly as they walked into the bank.

 

His bandana was secured over his face and his guns held in the air.  They weren’t his favorite, he had left one with Arthur to guard the camp and keep watch over things until they got back.  These guns were fine though, they felt solid in his hands as he walked across the polished tiled floor.

 

Hosea went to the nearest teller.  His gun aimed high. Despite their fingers not even touching the trigger, having a gun pointed in their faces was enough for the men, in their fancy suits and expensive leather shoes, to tremble.  They had grown accustomed to the safety of money, Dutch had decided. They forgot that this part of the country was still wild. Dutch pointed a gun at a different teller.

 

“We don’t come here to do any harm.  We just wish to take some money off of your hands and be on our way.”  Dutch said.

 

They had waited in town for hours.  This morning, Dutch had come in on his horse with Hosea, absolutely certain that the O’Driscolls were interested in the bank’s wagon.  They had waited together, watching for the caravan of horses and riders to rush out of town and chase after that gang once word got back that the wagon was attacked and robbed.  It had been nearly noon when they saw the activity, heard the shouts, and watched as the sheriff and his boys rushed out of town and down the road to chase the gang of men.

 

With luck, they would think that Dutch and Hosea were with them, would try to find the money with the O’Driscolls, and not a small group of campers of just two men, a woman, and a boy.  Dutch walked around the counter, behind it to see the tellers and nod at each of them before he jammed the gun into one’s back and marched him over to the safe.

 

“I’ll make it easy for you.  We don’t even want all of it, just fill up the bags and we’ll be on our way.”  Dutch said, leading the man forward. “No one has to die today.”

 

They had never robbed a bank before.  Stagecoaches and wealthy men out on the streets, but never an actual bank.  Dutch felt a fire of energy in his veins, pushing throughout his body in excitement.  Hosea was a steady man, quick thinking and good with the gun. Despite how they met, not too long ago, Dutch trusted him more than anyone for a new job like this.  They had gone from trying to rob each other, to robbing a bank.

 

The first bag was filled and dropped onto the ground at Dutch’s feet and he risked a glance back.  Hosea wasn’t even looking at him, his eyes scanning the other people, the ones huddled in the corner on either side of the counters.  A second filled bag dropped onto the ground with a heavy thud. The man was shaking, on his knees in the bank vault and grabbing handfuls of money, trying to fill it as quickly as he could.  This was clearly a man who never had a gun pointed at him before. A man far too accustomed to safety that he had never expected he would be in danger.

 

The third bag was filled and dropped near Dutch.  The man started on the fourth and final bag. Dutch holstered one of his guns, keeping the other held tightly in hand and steady in case he needed to fire.  He carried one bag over to Hosea. And then another. Hosea hooked each over his shoulders as they got ready to go, still threatening with their guns to keep people in their places, in the corners, far away from any of them, so there was nothing to get in the way of their escape.  It would be easier to have a third person, someone to carry the bags while Dutch and Hosea kept control of the situation, ready to shoot if necessary and making it clear to everyone else that they had control.

 

Arthur would have been good for it.  If Arthur had a horse of his own, they would have been able to carry more bags and more money.  The ideas made black, heavy guilt settle in his stomach. Annabelle wouldn’t like it, she was so certain a life of robbery would ruin the boy.  Not that he ever had a chance anyway. His father probably taught him enough about stealing, about hurting people, and they should all be lucky Arthur didn’t turn out as vile as the man who raised him.  Not yet at least.

 

Dutch pulled the last two bags over his own shoulders, turning in his spot so his gun hovered over all of them.  “Thank you. Your cooperation is much appreciated. We go in peace.” Dutch said, he and Hosea backed towards the door.

 

“Looks clear.”  Hosea said, scanning the windows.

 

Dutch smiled.  “Of course it is.  Everyone went after Colm and his boys.”  He said softly to his friend.

 

They got out the door to where their horses were waiting, two packs secured onto them quickly, and they climbed up and rode fast out of town.  They heard the shouting behind them, but didn’t stop to listen to what was being said. The sheriff and most of his deputies were long gone, doing some chase through the hills at this point.  Dutch and Hosea sped through town, heading the wrong way. If they went straight for camp, it would take them too close to where the O’Driscolls had been, too close to the wagon robbery, and he didn’t want to risk leading anyone back to their new camp.  Not the O’Driscolls and definitely not the law.

 

They left town and into the hills, into the deeper forests they hadn’t explored yet.  They would have to go around the town, far into the wilderness to avoid being seen and hope they weren’t being tracked.  His heart was pounding, he could hear it beating in his ears, and his blood ran hot. He pulled the bandana off of his face, breathing in the cold evening air, and laughed.  Dutch laughed loud, his body shaking with the energy of it.

 

“We got away.”  He said.

 

“It seems we did.  I won’t celebrate until we are far from this place though.”  Hosea said, dragging his own bandana off of his face.

 

“Tomorrow.  We will be out of here tomorrow.”  Dutch said. They had no reason to stay.  They had money now.

 

They made their way slowly back to camp, the soft glow of the fire and the smell of roasting meat greeting them home.  Dutch slowed down and listened carefully as they came in. He tried to hear for extra horses and extra voices, but as he got close he heard only soft voices singing and the crackle of the fire.

 

Arthur and Annabelle sat close to one another, on nearby tree stumps, pulling apart meat from a cooked rabbit and smearing it in gravy.  Dutch didn’t know Annabelle was making gravy today, his stomach growled at just the thought.

 

“You two seem to be in a cheery mood.”  Dutch said as he climbed off his horse, picking up his two bags of money and carrying it over to the fire to set down and count.

 

“I got Arthur reading his own name.”  Annabelle said, standing up at the sight of them, a wide smile on her face.

 

“A-R-T-H-U-R.”  Arthur said, the letters memorized.

 

Annabelle came up to him, putting her hand on Dutch’s chest, looking down at the bags and then at Hosea.  “We heard gunshots.”

 

“That was probably just the O’Driscolls.”  Hosea said. The man dropped his own bags at his feet and sat down.  He had brought a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag, already screwing off the top.

 

“The O’Driscolls?”  Arthur asked.

 

“They were robbing the bank’s wagon today.  From what we saw in town, it looked like it had turned into a mess.  Not a single lawman in the area when we left. Lucky day for us.” Hosea said.  He had drank heavily, already setting the mood for how he would celebrate tonight.

 

Dutch and Hosea sat around the fire and counted their money.  There was a giddy mood in the air, an untainted joy at the end of the day and they had made off with their bounty.  More money than they could count tonight. More than they needed and more than they knew what to do with.

 

And Arthur watched them the entire time.  He sat across the fire, leaning forward with his hands folded in front of him.  It was hard to tell the expression on the boys face, the flickering firelight casting shadows, stretching his features.  Dutch couldn't decide if Arthur's face was neutral or if there was some negativity there. He lifted the bottle to his lips and watched as Arthur's eyes followed.

 

They were celebrating.  Drinking happily as Annabelle and Hosea started singing a soft, cheerful song.  They could make their way as far as they wanted to, with as much supplies as they needed.  For a while at least, nothing to last them a lifetime, but a year at least. Enough to get far away from the cities and their people and find someplace safe for Arthur.

 

There was an orphanage a half days ride south.  A catholic place, with the nuns and Christian morality that could get him on a proper path in life.  Proper by Annabelle's standards at least. If Dutch was being dramatic enough he would call it a face worse than death.

 

He could send the boy with money.  Some for him to tuck away for safekeeping, and some to give the sisters for their troubles.  Arthur would be in fine hands and the nuns could get him reading and writing like Annabelle wanted.  Get some schooling. He could get a fine job and get lost in the industrialization of America.

 

Dutch almost didn't want to do it.  It wasn't a life he would want. Farm work would be better than that.  A hard day's job and work to he proud of. Dutch would take the boy robbing if he could, but he had already promised Annabelle, Arthur's life wouldn't come to that.

 

“Where the money come from?”  Arthur asked, breaking his long silence and pulling Dutch from his thoughts.

 

“The bank of course!”  Dutch said.

 

Arthur nodded, eyes looking down at the few bags of money.  Hosea took a drink and then leaned over in his seat, bottle outstretched in an offering to Arthur.  Annabelle's expression pinched but she didn't say a word of protest. The boy was still a boy after all, but close enough to being a man to celebrate with them.

 

“You rob it?”  Arthur asked.

 

“No one gets hurt from a bank robbery, son.  We shoot the people who shoot at us, but when you rob a bank you're just taking money from people who don't need it.  The bankers, those wealthy capitalists. They hoard it. We are simply moving the money around.” Dutch said.

 

It occurred to him now he hadn't explained to Arthur what they were doing.  What kind of people they were and what their life was. Arthur was familiar with robbers and thieves, likely ate the food his father stole from ranch sheds and from farm wagons, learned to survive from that man, but that didn't mean he understood how this was different.

 

“We don't rob from people who don't have anything.  Not the hard working, peaceful folk. Understand this, we steal from people who have too much and don't give a damn about all the rest of the world with nothing.”  Dutch said.

 

Arthur nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

 

Dutch suspected half of what he said was immediately forgotten.  Perhaps it went over the boy's head or maybe he just didn't yet understand.  Dutch pulled out one of the stacks and held it up for Arthur to see.

 

“Tomorrow I'll send you down south, drop off a few of these to an orphanage down there.” Dutch said.  “We are now the people who have too much, so let's share the wealth a bit.”

 

Arthur drank, his head tilted way back.  He drank greedy, taking as much as he could manage before he passed the bottle off to Annabelle.  She had no hesitation about drinking, pausing in her soft singing to do so.

 

“You're sending me where?” Arthur asked.

 

“You'll ride south for about half a day.  Towards the center of town, it's more of some new, booming railroad city, is an orphanage full of nuns, they are Godly women wearing all black.”  Dutch said, counting out a stack of money, nearly five hundred dollars. He counted out another to give to Arthur, have it tucked away in case the boy needed anything later in.

 

“I know what a nun is.”  Arthur said.

 

“Good then I don't have to describe them to you.”  Dutch said. Resolution settled in his stomach. He couldn't take Arthur with them anymore.  He wasn't going to try to teach this boy his was of stealing when he probably already knows his daddy's way.  He wasn't going to encourage petty thievery, not when Arthur just might not understand what Dutch wanted him to.  “I'll write a letter for them. You just walk into the office and give it to them. Be polite now, wait for them to read it.”

 

Dutch looked up and saw Annabelle looking at him, her eyes focused on his face and her grip tight on the bottle.  She knew. He was sending Arthur away, someplace safe where people could set him straight. Better than they could.  Dutch just didn't know what to do with some kid around his camp.

 

“And you'll all wait here until I get back?”  Arthur asked, voice low and quiet.

 

“Of course.”  Dutch said. They would be heading West tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooo the robbery went well. Dutch seemed to have decided on what to do with Arthur.
> 
> Im sure there wont be much trouble with the O'driscolls after this   
> :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast update so I hope you guys are enjoying it

_To Whom It May Concern of the New Hope Orphanage,_

 

_In hopes that you have the room for him, we have sent along our boy to be in your safekeeping.  Standing before you is a fine young man named Arthur. Enclosed is $500 for all of your troubles, though I doubt he would give you any in the coming years.  Due to personal reasons, we are no longer able to care for him._

 

_He is a fine boy.  Fourteen years of age, used to hard work, and his reading, though slowly coming along, shows promise.  He will be a fine man one day, with the right guidance. If he has some schooling then we hope he would be a better man than we can make him.  We trust you will do right by him._

 

_I must apologize, Arthur is expecting to be dropping off this letter to you and then coming home.  His reading, as mentioned earlier, isn’t strong so I trust this letter to reach you without him knowing.  He assumes he will come back when you’re done. We will not be here waiting for him. Please care for him, as he deserves to be cared for.  Please give him a proper, decent life._

 

Dutch read through the letter again and again.  The words didn’t feel right. He had much more he wanted to say, about Arthur, about their lives and their reasons for sending him along.  But the sun was coming up and Dutch was writing in the dim light of the campfire with his coffee, trying to get it all scribbled out properly.

 

Hosea was getting the horse ready.  Annabelle was saying goodbye without actually saying it.  They had whispered about it that night, Dutch had told her it was the best chance, now that they were getting into bank robbing and now that people might be looking for them.  Annabelle had been insistent that Arthur become a decent man, not an outlaw. Staying with them would counteract any desire for that. This was better for him.

 

“Ride safe, alright.  Mayflower is a calm girl, likes a slow and peaceful stroll, but if you need she will run fast.”  Annabelle said, holding both of Arthur’s hands tightly.

p>

Arthur nodded simply.  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be easy on her.”

 

“I know you will. And it's a long way so be sure to stop for lunch.”

 

“And I'll be back before supper.  Promise.” Arthur said.

 

Dutch looked at Hosea, who had finished packing the few things that were Arthur's and anything else that they felt should go with the boy.  

 

Food for a few days, knives, maps, and blankets.  Things to keep Arthur alive if by some chance he didn't get there in half a day like he was supposed to.  He wouldn't need it, but giving him a bit extra seemed to calm the nerves. The boy had been with them for only a few weeks and, despite their best efforts, they had gotten attached.

 

Annabelle kept whispering her advice and Hosea looked around the camp, picking up random bits of supplies to pack in Arthur's saddle bags.  Dutch reread the letter again. It didn't like enough. It felt oddly cruel to send him off with a letter he couldn't read that, in its basics, said ‘here is money to take care of our boy for us.  He doesn't know we're giving him away but we won't be here if he comes back’.

 

Dutch tucked the money into the envelope and closed it.  He looked down at the paper as he walked up to the two of them, hearing the faint sound of Arthur laughing, telling Annabelle not to worry and that he would be back before supper.

 

“Come here, son.” Dutch said, cutting in before they could say anything else.  “In this envelope is the donation money to the orphanage. Remember, go straight into the office and give it to whoever is in charge.  You stay there as they read it and do what they say.”

 

Arthur nodded quickly, taking the envelope from Dutch's hands.  “Yes, sir.”

 

Dutch let the boy tuck the letter away before holding up another bundle of money.  “This is yours. I want you to hide it and not tell a single soul you have it. If you ever need anything, you have this, so be responsible with it.”  He said as he handed it over. It was another $500. A good chunk of money to sit on, in case the orphanage fell through there was a chance at food and shelter.

 

Arthur took the money, staring at it for a moment before quickly tucking it away as well.  “Yes, sir.”

 

“Now don't go causing any trouble.  Be good to whoever you meet out there, but don't let them hurt you.”  Dutch said.

 

“I won't, sir.  You all don't have to worry so much.  I'll be back before nightfall.” Arthur said.  The boy slipped out from Dutch's hold and walked towards the horse.  “I just take the road south and in half a day I will get there.”

 

He repeated the directions and Dutch smiled and nodded.  “You be careful now.” He said.

 

“Yes, sir.”  Arthur said.

 

After he left, heading towards town where he would make his turn and continue onwards, they watched until he disappeared from view.  They waited for an hour afterwards, just in case for some reason Arthur turned around and came back to them. They slowly packed the camp, stopping every few minutes to listen for horses or to see if they could see him coming back over the hills.  Dutch watched too, silently hoping to see Arthur riding back before they had to pack up camp.

 

Once the hour was up, they picked up their speed.  The rolled up their beds and blankets, taking down their tents, and packed up pots and dishes as delicately as they could.  They hadn’t gotten settled here, had camped here for only a few days for that one bank job. It didn’t take long to get everything packed away again on their two remaining horses.

 

Annabelle would miss Mayflower, but she had agreed to it the night before.  It would be better if Arthur was in the orphanage, being schooled and brought up proper by the sisters who ran the place.  Mayflower would likely go to a nice stable in that small city, would get plenty of treats and head scratches like she deserves.  They would get Annabelle a new horse before long, once they stop again.

 

He poured water over the fire once they were done packing.  The plan was to head slowly through the woods until they were certain the roads were clear, their money hidden away in a lot of their saddle bags, tucked into food contained, between their clothes, and sealed in every free space they had.  To any watchful eyes, they were three travellers just making their way around. The lawmen in the area would be looking for a gang of men who robbed the wagon and, if Dutch was right, they would suspect them of the bank job as well.

 

“I keep thinking we did something wrong.”  Annabelle whispered to him once their former camp sight was out of few, they were far enough into the woods for it to be blocked by trees.

 

“With Arthur?”  Dutch asked her, feeling how tightly her arms were wound around his waist as they rode.  “He will be fine. He’s got a good head on him, he knows where he needs to go and what he needs to do.  Once whoever runs the orphanage reads the letter, they will explain it to him. He’ll understand.”

 

“He’ll understand?  We’re abandoning him, Dutch.  We sent him off and he expected to come back to us, but we’re leaving.  He won’t be able to find us, even if he does come back. He’ll be alone.”  Annabelle said.

 

“And he has money.  He has his knives. Hell, he still has the revolver I gave him the other day.  He’s not as young as we think, he’ll be okay.”

 

“He’s not a men yet either, this world will swallow him whole and spit him out again.”  She said, a bit more angry.

 

Dutch shook his head.  “He’ll be raised an orphan, which he is, in the care of the Church.  He’ll learn to read like you want, get proper schooling and proper work one day.  Just like you want. Far from this life we have. You’re the one who didn’t want him involved in it.”

 

“Yes, but I didn’t mean let’s send him off on a charity mission just for him to find out we were ditching him.”  She said.

 

“You’re getting too attached.  We all are. He’s gone now, he’ll be fine.  Stop worrying, you’re not his mother.” Dutch said.  This is what she wanted. She had insisted the boy not work on robbing, she had allowed him to learn to shoot and drink and hunt, but she drew the line at robbery.  They were all thieves, even she was, but she had insisted to him that he not make Arthur one too.

 

“I know that.”  Annabelle said. She was angry, Dutch hated it when she was angry.  It made him angry as well, because last night this was something she agreed to.  “We should have told him though. We should have explained it to him. You care about him too, I know you do.”

 

“We’ve only known him for a few weeks.  He’s a stray. And he despises me.”

 

“He does not.  He’s cautious, but he likes you.”

 

“Annabelle, I shot the boy’s father in front of his eyes.”  Dutch said.

 

The hesitation was like a stutter in their conversation.  The words dying fast. “You…” She muttered softly. He had never told her where Arthur came from, though she asked.  He had just told her they found him on a job, Hosea gave the kid a handful of dollars, and then he followed them back.  It was a half truth and everyone knew it, but Dutch hadn’t told her the details.

 

She didn’t get to finish asking.  The sound of horses broke them of their soft and angry whispered conversations.  Hosea had been leading them, he pulled the reins back and stopped his horse, hand raised in the air to silence them.  Multiple horses, moving quickly through the trees, and then entering their line of sight in front of them and around the sides.  Annabelle’s arms squeezed tighter now, digging into Dutch’s waist, tight enough to make the bottom of his ribs ache.

 

“Now don’t tell me you folks are leaving so soon.  And we were just starting to get acquainted.” Colm O’Driscoll said.  His horse stood in front of them, blocking their path through the woods.

Dutch scanned the men.  A few he recognized, the brother who spoke to Arthur and the man with wrapped up fingers who had nearly gotten them cut off for letting them wander.  The rest were strangers. Nearly a dozen men, more than Dutch had seen, more than he had expected.

 

“We’re wanderers.  We weren’t planning on staying long.”  Dutch said.

 

Colm shifted on his horse, the creature turning slightly.  “Strange thing you’re leaving so soon, without saying goodbye.  Lots of strange things lately. In fact, me and my boys are being accused of a bank robbery, but we weren’t even in town when it happened.  We were… preoccupied. Strange we get blamed for a robbery we didn’t even do and get none of the rewards from.”

 

“We don’t know anything about that.  We have been sticking to our business, just as you should stick to yours.”  Dutch watched. The men all had their hands resting near their guns, but not obviously on them.  They were horribly outnumbered.

 

“This is my business.  Everything that happens in this territory is my business.  Everything you see, these hills, these woods, these roads, and these towns.  All belong to me. I don’t like strangers coming in and stealing from my banks before I get to, and yet I still get the blame for it.  Me and my boys, getting all the notoriety and none of the money. Does that seem fair, Mr?” Colm O’Driscoll said, gesturing at his men as he spoke.

 

“If you’re asking for money, because someone robbed something and you got blamed for it, then you’re asking the wrong people.”  Dutch said. He kept his hands tight on the reins of his horse, near his gun if he needed it.

 

“You stayed here, both of you and your woman and your...boy.”  Colm said, eyes drifting over them. “Because I allowed it. Now it’s time to pay your dues.”

 

“There is nothing we have to pay you.”  Dutch said.

 

Colm looked over them.  Dutch knew what they saw, three people when the other day there had been four.  A different kind of man would have paid, would have set a precedent, an unspoken expectation.  If Dutch paid now, Colm would demand he always pay. If Dutch handed off money they had stolen, he would hand off the freedom he got, taking that money from the bank.  He would rather die than become a man content with giving in.

 

“You’re too attached to your money it seems.  I guess I’ll just have to look elsewhere.” Colm said.  He darted off, his horse moving quickly through the trees and the men following after him.  The pounding sound of a dozen horses echoed, sounding like it circled around them, but grew fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

 

When the sound finally disappeared, Hosea turned to him and moved in close.  “They’re going to go after Arthur.” He said quickly.

 

“You don’t know that.”  Dutch said.

 

Annabelle slipped off the back of the horse.  “They’re going after him.” She said.

 

“They saw he wasn’t with us, hell they may have seen him leave.  They may already have him.” Hosea said, eyes scanning the trees as he spoke.  “We should head South, see if anyone has seen him on the road, ask the orphanage if he arrived before we did.”

 

“And if he did and he sees us come looking for him?  After we sent him off to leave him?” Dutch asked.

 

“Then we apologize and take him with us.”  Annabelle said.

 

“This whole time you kept saying you wanted to leave him somewhere safe so he could have a proper life, and now you changed your mind?”  Dutch asked, his own anger still festering in his chest.

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

“And you’re ready for him to be an outlaw with the rest of us because if we get him back, he will pull his weight and work.”  He said firmly, looking back and forth between the two of them.

 

Annabelle’s face pinched, her eyes drifting to Hosea for a moment.  She crossed his arms across her chest, feet spreading apart to steady her stance.

 

“Its 1878.  In 22 years, we're gonna enter a new century.  Average people get to peacefully know that they’ll survive 22 years.  They get to be hopeful of the future. How many of us will live to see it?  Which of us will end up shot and which ones will end up swinging? One day the law will catch up to us, especially now that we're moving up to bank robbing.  One day a rival gang, or an angry farmer, or a lucky sheriff will catch us when we aren’t ready. We're all dead. I just thought maybe he deserved a chance.”  Annabelle said, her hands trembling as she gestured at the three of them, their horses, standing in the woods with nothing for miles. Her voice rang in the silence of it all.  “But at this point I would rather he be an outlaw with us than an outlaw with them. Or end up dead because we robbed a bank and then left him alone. I don’t know what those men will do.”

 

“Annabelle.  Is that what you believe?”  Dutch asked and he slid off of his horse as well.  His hands reached out slowly to hold on to her shoulders.  “I won't let that happen. No one is after us. No one will be shot and no one will be hanged.  We are free people, living a beautiful life out here. Nothing will happen to us. You want to live to see the turn of the century so much?  The dawn of the 20th century? Fine, you’ll see it. All of us will.”

 

Annabelle looked close to tears, her body still trembling slightly, her stance still strong and angry and her eyes stared him down.  “You can’t promise these things.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”  Hosea said, cutting in.  “What matters is we’re being threatened right now.  Today. And Arthur is alone.”

 

Dutch looked at Annabelle and smiled.  “Alright. Let’s find him before the O’Driscolls do.”

 

“And if they already got him?”  Hosea asked.

 

“Then we’ll have to go get him.”  Annabelle said, allowing herself to be pulled back up onto Dutch’s horse, settling in again behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert the "I abandoned my boy" meme here
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments so far. they fuel me


	7. Chapter 7

They made it to the orphanage late into the evening, having left many hours after Arthur and the three of them having to avoid the roads in the hope that they could avoid being seen or followed.  It was well past suppertime, many of the windows on the buildings high walls were dark and empty, very few had any light in them at all.

 

Dutch frowned at the sight if the place.  It felt haunted, like an old castle in one of those scary novels he had found in Annabelle’s bag.  Full if ghosts, a building made black by shadows. Not a single child in sight despite it reportedly supposed to be full of them.  Logically, Dutch knew that by this time of night all the children would have been laid down to sleep. Despite that, the place seemed barren and haunted.

 

“We can just tell them it was a mistake.  An honest mistake, we didn’t mean to send the boy away.”  Annabelle said as Dutch helped her off of the horse.

 

“Just leave the talking to me, darling.  Arthur will be back with us in no time.” He said.  The three of them left their horses tied up out front and then made their way to the front door.

 

It was quiet.  All the sounds in the area seem to be coming from the surrounding town and countryside, not in the building itself.  When Dutch banged his fist on the door, it seemed to shake the whole building itself. There was no answer for a few moments, but in the windows they could see the dim glow of a candle or lantern making its way to the front door.

 

After a moment, a slot in the door opened, the face of an older woman peeking out at them.

 

“Yes?”  She asked.

 

Dutch cleared his throat.  “Sorry to disturb you so late at night, sister.  Our brother, a fool, sent his son here with a letter and some money.  Arthur is a young teenager, not quite a man. He would have come in sometime this afternoon.”

 

“You say your nephew arrived here today and you want to retrieve him?”  The woman repeated back to him, her nose wrinkling.

 

“Yes, Arthur.  He’s a fine boy.  Quiet. Sandy hair.  Short and a bit thin, but wide in the shoulders.”  Dutch said.

 

He doubted the orphanage got many boys just wandering in with Arthur’s description, with letters and money.  He doubted anyone came here with money at all. Not on this side of the business, their side was that of the abandoners and the abandoned, not the people looking to adopt.  

 

“He came with a letter.  Everything inside you can keep, we just want the boy back.”  Dutch said.

 

The woman looked him up and down, glancing back at Hosea and Annabelle still standing a ways behind him down the steps.  “We have many boys here. Come back in the morning and you can take your pick.” She said.

 

“I don’t think you understand.  We are here for one specific boy who came earlier today.”  Dutch said.

 

The woman nodded.  “I understand. You pay us to take the boy.”

 

Dutch opened his mouth to argue, to insist that they can keep the money, they just want Arthur back.  They wanted the kid, the donation would have belonged to them either way. He would beat this door down and storm the halls for Arthur himself if he had to.

 

Hosea put a hand on Dutch’s back, squeezing his shoulder and pulling him slightly away from the door.  He held money out in his hand, another handful of dollars that he offered up to the slot in the door, the woman peering out of it looked over the money before her hand shot out to grab it.  It couldn’t have been more than a hundred dollars, a small bit of cash compared to what they had sent Arthur with.

 

“He left about as soon as he got here.  Poor thing, didn’t know he was supposed to stay here until Sister Judith read the letter to him.  We fed him, set him up with a room, but when we went to check on him he was gone. He might be somewhere in town however, or he left already.  I know a few other boys came looking for him as well. They didn’t pay as nice though.” She said.

 

It was more than Dutch could get out of her by just talking.  The robbery had been successful, they had more money than they needed, if a few nuns demanded more than so be it.  It was for the children, after all. Dutch and Hosea both tipped their hats at the woman and the slot in the door closed and locked tight.  They were left there on the porch of the building. Despite how dark and quiet it was inside, it sat on the edge of a town that was still full of noise and energy.

 

This town was nearly twice the size of the one they had left behind.  They could hear music in a few directions, men shouting and cheering as they made their way down the streets.  They only had to go a little ways farther down the road to be engulfed in it, lost in the lights and music and city life that made Dutch’s mood sink further down than it already was.

 

“She said more men had come looking for him.”  Annabelle said, sliding her arm around Dutch’s.

 

“I heard her.  It doesn’t mean anything, so don’t start worrying.”  Dutch said.

 

She shook her head.  “It does mean something.  It means Arthur made it. It means the O’Driscolls showed up after Arthur already left.  They’re looking for him here too.”

 

Dutch pulled her close, his arm around her tightly.  He looked at every man they walked past. Every man who looked in a hurry, who looked too drunk to go straight, and every man who looked back at them.  He tried to see which ones he recognized, if he remembered the faces of each O’Driscoll men he had seen inside his camp, threatening his people. He didn’t see anyone familiar.

 

They went to a hotel, Dutch went inside to buy a few rooms, enough for four.  Hosea got the horses tied off, all their valuables inside and locked away safe.  They would search the town on foot, peek into every alleyway and tavern until they found Arthur or someone who had seen him.  Annabelle wanted to search too, but the hour was growing far too late too quickly. Hosea and Dutch planned to split up, they needed her here with their things and Dutch insisted every time she argued.

 

“He’ll have Mayflower with him still.  I’m sure if we can just find where her then he won’t be too far behind.  He adores her.” Annabelle said. She looked at their room, the things they didn’t want to risk leaving on the horses.  It was a nice enough room, but Dutch could tell she didn’t want to be left waiting here.

 

“I’ll find both of them.  I’ll go one way, Hosea will go the other, we can cover more ground that way.”  Dutch said, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Just wait for us here.  We’ll never find Arthur if you keep distracting me the way you do.”

 

“Shut up.  Bring him back here before all three of you end up in jail or something.  I won’t come get you.” She said. She would, if it came down to that, but Dutch didn’t intend for it too.

 

He wished her one final goodnight before he and Hosea made it back onto the street.  This town was three times the size of the last one. Three banks, five different hotels, and a saloon or bar of some kind on nearly every street.  They didn’t know where Arthur would go. If he was smart, he would have gotten a hotel room, a cheap one for a while until he got his bearings. If he was dumb, he would have gone back to their other camp, the empty one they had all left behind that morning.  They would have passed on the road, or while the three of them were avoiding the road and they had missed each other.

 

“He’ll be alright.”  Hosea said as they both made their way down the road, scanning the area around them first.

 

“I’m hoping for it.  I don’t think Annabelle will take it if we don’t find him.”  He said.

 

“I wouldn’t worry too hard if I were her.  All she can do is leave you.” Hosea said, chest shaking as he laughed to himself.  “No, Arthur is a tough kid. We’ll find him eating candy and cooing at Mayflower within the hour, I bet.”

 

“A money bet or a metaphorical bet?”  Dutch asked. Small talk with Hosea always calmed the nerves, always put things into perspective for him.

 

“Well, we got money now.”

 

They discussed the terms.  Fifty dollars and Hosea said that Arthur was fine, sitting on some park bench and babying Annabelle’s horse with soft words and treats.  Dutch said that Arthur had ran off. Into the woods and hills where they had found him, to lose what little bit of civility they had taught him in favor of the rabbid survival he was raised on.  He was fine with a knife, he would hunt for a while and make camp and they would find him leaned against a tree with his hat over his eyes. Either way, they said they would find him.

 

“I’ll check the West side of the city, you check the East.”  Dutch said, they shook hands and agreed to meet back at the hotel by midnight.  If they found Arthur, they could rest before they leave. If not, they could still sleep before they go out looking again.

 

There was nothing in their bet or their plans that left any room for the possibility that they wouldn’t find him.  Even if they had to go back to the orphanage and scour the place to see if they were hiding him, they would find him.

 

Dutch walked slow, peeking into the alleys were drunken men were left slumped and a few working women stood together in groups, talking to one another until they realized Dutch had looked their way.  He smiled and tilted his hat, but went on his way. He wasn't looking for a woman tonight.

 

Dutch slowed down as a thought occurred to him.  He might not be looking for a woman but Arthur might.  He had left their camp with a thousand dollars, half for the nuns and half for Arthur.  A boy with that much money and Dutch could only assume he wasn't used to having so much to spend.  And Arthur knew he was left behind, had no reason to stay with the nuns, and had more money than he had ever seen.  If Dutch was in his place, he would blow it. Throw out all of it as fast and loose as he could.

 

Dutch listened for the sound of drunken men and made his way towards it.  The saloon and stopped at all the horses tied up outside. He looked for Mayflower, with her soft pattern that Dutch couldn't tell if she was white with gray spots or the other way around.  She was pretty, Annabelle always looked lovely riding her. Dutch could recognize her anywhere and she wasn't here.

 

Not at this saloon.  Dutch stepped up and inside, looked around at the men and women inside.  None of them were Arthur, they were all too old, big, and loud to be that boy.  Dutch stepped back out and kept walking. There was still a few hours before they were supposed to meet up, but Dutch didn't want to waste too much time.

 

He slowed down at the next hotel.  Dutch eyed the horses and saw nothing.  Or at the next one either.

 

Perhaps Dutch had misjudged.  Perhaps Arthur had simply wandered off into the woods.  He could have gotten lost with no direction. Thinking no one would bother to look for him.  Dutch walked faster.

 

And he found her.  Tied to a post on one of the darker streets.  She was nibbling at some other horses ear, a line of them waiting outside a saloon that had all of its windows lit up.  Dutch walked up to her, memorizing the skeckled, spotted pattern to make sure it was the horse he remembered. He looked at the saddlebags, trying to decide if they were the ones they had given Arthur or if they were just generic leather bags.  Perhaps this was just a horse that looked enough like Mayflower.

 

Dutch went into the saloon.  He scanned the heads. Old and young men and women laughing and singing and drinking.  Dutch scanned the bar, at the people flagging down drinks. He tried to find him among everybody else.

 

And he heard the roll of dice on the table, Dutch looked over, seeing Arthur's shortly cropped, golden brown hair in the lantern light, hovering over a table in the back. His head bobbing as he watched the dice.

 

“Snake eyes!”

 

Arthur leaned too heavily off to one side.

 

“Fuck.”  The kid said, money sliding away from him on the table.

 

A hand reached out and stopped him from toppling over completely, pulling him back up, firmly placed low on his waist.  Callum O'Driscoll laughing as he supported Arthur's weight. Dutch watched as Arthur stumbled and Callum kept him upright.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of lost and found. Looks like someone else found him first though. The boys will talk soon.


	8. Chapter 8

“I lost.”  Arthur said, pointing at the table.  They had been playing some dice game, the single dots of two die staring up at them.  It was an unlucky roll.

 

Dutch stayed a few feet behind them and watched.  He was tempted to run up there and shove them apart, take Arthur from the O’Driscolls arms and drag him back to the hotel to be doted on by Annabelle.  He wanted to get Arthur into bed where he could sleep off his drunkenness, so he could be well rested and they could talk. But Dutch resisted the urge and instead stood back and waited.

 

The O’Driscolls came here for Arthur.  Half a days ride from where they had all been before.  Dutch had no idea why, if they thought Arthur was important, if they wanted him to fulfil some sort of purpose, or if they just wanted to take him to piss Dutch and his people off.

 

“I wanna go again.”  Arthur said. He sounded lost, his voice slurred as he couldn’t get it under control.  He lifted his hand, a finger twirling in front of him. “Again.”

 

“Alright, you can roll again.  How much you wanna bet this time?”  Callum asked, pulling Arthur closer, the boy’s back pressed against his chest.

 

“All of it.”

 

“No.”

 

“Double ‘r nothin’.”

 

“How about you bet another five?”  Callum said.

 

Arthur nodded, pulling his roll of money from his pocket and smacking a bill onto the table again.  Dutch didn’t watch the table, he didn’t watch the dice as they rolled. He didn’t pay any attention to the game at all.  Dutch watched Arthur. He walked around the table, far back and uninvolved enough to disappear into the crowded saloon in the background.  Arthur was gone, eyes red and wide and glassy, his feet stumbling just to keep himself from falling over, and he leaned against the O’Driscoll so heavy he would fall if the man stepped away.

 

Arthur seemed to accept the support unquestioningly.

 

The roll must have been good, because Arthur’s face lit up and he reached forward to drag some money close to him.  A few crumpled bills that Arthur just shoved in his pocket. If Callum wanted the money, Arthur was drunk enough for him to take it without being noticed.  He could slip his hand into his pocket and run away with it, leaving the boy to collapse onto the floor with unstable legs. But Callum didn’t reach for the money and Dutch had seen it in Arthur’s hand as he shoved it into his pocket.  All of it.

 

Instead, Callum grabbed one of the glasses sitting far too close to the table’s edge and held it up to Arthur’s mouth.  It made Dutch’s stomach twist, some sour taste in his mouth cause him to grimace. Arthur was already too drunk. He was small, barely more than a child, and here he was being plied for more.  And Arthur tilted his head back and accepted it without question. Arthur had never accepted anything from Dutch, whether it be food or clothes or even a few words, without extreme hesitation.

 

“There you go.”  Callum O’Driscoll said, his head turned so his lips brushed over Arthur’s ear and his voice fell to a whisper.  Everything else he said was for Arthur alone and Dutch couldn’t make it out over the voices of everyone surrounding them.

 

Arthur didn’t seem to hear it either.  He seemed to have lost all the focus he had with that final shot.  His eyes were hazy, empty, looking over the table and then just drifting around.  Arthur looked at the table as other people began making their bets, money being handed off and tossed around.  His head bobbed to the right and then the left until his eyes settled on Dutch.

 

His nose wrinkled in a grimace and he mumbled something Dutch couldn’t hear.  Arthur’s hand reached up and tapped lightly on Callum’s arm. The O’Driscoll hadn’t seen Dutch, hadn’t looked over, and kept on whispering in Arthur’s ear.  His hands readjusted, one hooking across Arthur’s chest and the other around his hips and started to walk backwards. Arthur’s legs dragged.

 

Callum made his way to the door with Arthur in tow and Dutch moved to follow.  He pushed through the crowd, his stomach twisting as the two of them disappeared behind the door.  He couldn’t see them. The saloon was crowded and Dutch tried to slip through the people, who had begun gathering around the piano to sing a song.

 

He could still hear the drunken singing, the rise of happy voices, when he stepped out the doors.  It was dull and muffled, but still loud. He didn’t see Arthur and Callum right away. The lights of the saloon threw the shadows far into the street and it made it difficult to see clearly.  But during a break in the song he kept hearing a soft, drunken singing to his left. There he found Arthur, leaning in on himself and braced against the side of the building, mumbling the words of the song in a voice that sounded rough and scratchy.  Judging by the pile of vomit at Arthur’s feet, his throat was raw. And Callum O’Driscoll stood a foot away from him, getting his horse ready.

 

“Come on, now.”  Callum said, hands reaching out to grab Arthur again.

 

“No, don’t touch him.”  Dutch said. 

 

Arthur could barely lift his head to look at him.  He was too far gone to realize he was being dragged away, or perhaps he just didn’t care anymore.  Dutch couldn’t let him go, not with the O’Driscolls. Not with anyone when Arthur was like this. Callum looked up at him and stared straight at Dutch.  He took a step closer to Arthur and put a hand on his back, casually rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.

 

“Now, don’t be like that Mr. Van Der Linde.  The boy’s had a bit too much, it’ll be best to get him to bed soon.  We got a nice one set up for him. Warm and comfortable. I already promised it to him.”  Callum said. He patted Arthur’s back as he spoke, and then went back to rubbing, an up and down motion moving over the curve of his spine.

 

Arthur was breathing slow and heavy, face hidden in the dim light.  He was braced against the wall and leaning against it as if he would throw up again.  He just might. Dutch didn’t know how much he had drank, but it had clearly been too much for him.  Arthur reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, letting out a soft and pained groan.

 

“Dutch?”  The boy said.

 

“You left him.  That’s what Arthur told me at least.  He said you threw him out like trash. He was so sad when I found him, just leaning against a tree outside of town and cooing at his horse.  He’ll be fine if he comes with me. He already said he would.” Callum said. Dutch wasn’t sure how much of it he believed, but the O’Driscoll stood between him and Arthur.  The boy was in no state to fight the man off, or even understand the situation at hand, and Dutch wasn’t going to let this drunk child be dragged off by these men.

 

He heard a few of them come out of the saloon behind him, he saw their shadows cutting through the light, and Dutch glanced his head back to look at them.  There were two of them. One was a stranger but the other he recognized. Dutch had memorized that man’s face in particular, anger pooling in his belly at the sight of him and the bandage still wrapped securely around his hand.

 

“You can’t have him.”  Dutch said firmly.

 

“He’s not yours to give away anymore.  Besides, your people owe us.” Callum said.

 

“We don’t owe you a damn thing.”

 

“Well, at the very least Arthur owes me for all the drinks I bought for him.  Which is nothing compared to what you owe us for taking the blame for your robbery.”  Callum said. 

 

His hands moved from the gentle rubbing and instead grabbed Arthur by the waist, pulling him away from the wall.  He stumbled into Callum’s arms, arms flailing a moment as he grabbed onto the man for stability. They moved to the man’s horse and Arthur looked at it and frowned, his hand going up to his mouth to let out a single, clear whistle.

 

Dutch took a step closer to Arthur, hearing Mayflower down the way panting and seeing her tug at reigns were she was tied to the post.  The O’Driscoll men behind him came closer, matching Dutch’s steps as he approached Arthur and Callum.

 

“I got my own horse.”  Arthur said as Callum tried to shove him onto his own.  “Mayflower. Come here girl.”

 

The horse was still tied to her post, down on the other end of the saloon, frustrated and trapped.  Dutch kept walking, trying to get close enough to rip Arthur from the man’s hands. He would not let his boy onto Callum O’Driscoll’s horse.  The sour taste in his mouth seemed to flood into his stomach and poison him. It ached with anger and fear because Dutch knew that if he let this drunk, stupid boy out of his sights then the O’Driscolls would ruin him.

 

“Mayflower is Annabelle’s horse.  Arthur, if you come with me I can take you to go see her.  I know she misses the two of you.” Dutch said, his voice softening a bit as he spoke to Arthur.

 

“She does?”

 

Arthur looked up at him.  His eyes were hooded, hardly open anymore.  His face was pinched in an uncomfortable grimace, covered in an unhealthy looking sheen.  Dutch needed to get the boy back to the hotel rooms they had gotten, washed and into warm sheets for him to sleep the liquor off.

 

“Yes, son.  She does.” Dutch said.

 

Arthur’s face twisted, his jaw clenched and lips pulled back in a silent growl.  Dutch didn’t know if he was going to bend over to vomit again or shout out the anger and frustrations he was allowed to have after what they had done to him, made more emotional by the alcohol the O’Driscolls had poured down his throat.

 

There was another loud whistle and two men was making their way down the road.  In the dim lights they could still see the blue coats and round hats of lawmen. The city was large enough to likely have a lot of them, out on patrol in the streets and wrangle in drunken disturbances like they were being.  Dutch looked away from them. He wasn’t afraid of the law, at the moment he was afraid of Callum, still gripping the shirt around Arthur’s waist. Afraid the man might haul the boy onto the horse and run off.

 

Instead, a hand let go of the shirt and instead grabbed at Arthur’s pants.  The shadows of the men behind him vanished back into the saloon and Dutch took the moment to leap at them.  He had planned to pull Arthur away and beat Callum within an inch of his life for putting his hands on Arthur, getting him drunk, and whatever else they had planned for him if they had managed to get Arthur into the O’Driscoll camp.  Instead, Callum shoved Arthur to him. The boy stumbled, his legs not reliable enough to catch him, and Dutch let the man go in favor of catching the boy. He held his arms out and wrapped them around Arthur’s shoulders and stopped him from hitting the ground.

 

“Off a me.”  Arthur mumbled, wiggling in Dutch’s arms.

 

Callum rode away, his horse taking off down the road before he was even fully settled on the seat.  Dutch didn’t bother to watch him leave. He didn’t care where he went, just that he had left Arthur behind.  The boy was struggling, fighting Dutch off as if he was the one intent on hurting him.

 

“Stop fighting me, boy.  The law is on us.” Dutch whispered softly, dragging Arthur so he could sit on the steps of the saloon’s porch.  “Evening, officers.”

 

It was two men.  Young men, clean and their uniforms without a tear or wrinkle.  They looked at Dutch up and down before glancing over his shoulder at Arthur.  They looked down the road at where Callum had rode off, but made no effort to follow him.

 

“We heard a whistle, thought we would come check in on everyone.  Are you alright?” One of them asked.

 

Arthur leaned over, nearly laying himself out flat on the steps.  “I was callin’ my horse. She’s a good girl. Down there.” Arthur pointed.

 

“Forgive us.  My son snuck out tonight to come gambling and I came to fetch him as soon as I discovered him missing.  Clearly not soon enough to stop him from becoming a drunken buffoon.” Dutch said to the two men.

 

“Ain’t my pa.”  Arthur mumbled.

 

“We argue often, refuses to call me his father anymore.”  Dutch said.

 

One of the officers nodded, they other stepped aside to see Arthur better, still laying on the steps, and stood between the two of them and the road.  “We heard shouting as well.” The officer said. “We don’t want no disturbances here tonight.”

 

“I apologize again, sir.  We don’t want to be a disturbance.  My son has just had a bit too much to drink.  We fight about it all the time, he gets the habit from his mother.”  Dutch said, waving an arm behind him at Arthur. “We will be on our way and won’t cause any mo-”

 

“Don’t go talkin’ bout my mama.  She ain’t no drinker, you don’ get to say so.”  Arthur said, voice rising in anger. He was pushing himself up, hands gripping the railing of the porch and by sheer stupidity managed to stand.

 

Dutch was losing the fight against Arthur’s stubborn hatred of him.  He looked at the two officers who looked back at him and waited. Arthur was standing now, swaying on his feet, letting out a tired sounding heave and he wiped at his mouth again.

 

And then he ran.  Arthur took one last look at the three men in front of him and darted away towards Mayflower.  Dutch didn’t make any move to chase after him. He didn’t have to because he knew Arthur wasn’t getting away.  The boy hardly got anywhere at all before his unstable legs finally gave out on him and he stumbled, falling face first into a sign post.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is canon a dumb drunk


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General consensus is that arthur is a sloppy drunk and we know that wont change. Also, Callum bad.

It took a few hours in a jail cell and a total of twenty dollars for Dutch to get them free.  He had been worried, though he didn’t need to be. No one saw his face in that bank, no one had a reason to suspect him of anything other than having a drunken, idiot boy.  He wasn’t being seen as a bank robber, he was seen as an exasperated father of an unruly boy.

 

In that time, he had to fix up Arthur's face.  His chin had gotten caught on something when he ran into that post, tearing the skin deep enough to leave blood flowing down his neck.  They didn't have anything the needed to stitch it up, but Dutch doubted Arthur would let him try. The boy fought him and all he was doing was cleaning him.

 

“Off me.”  Arthur muttered, trying to pull his chin out of Dutch's solid grip.  “No good, lying snake.”

 

He shouted it, his voice going from slurred and whispered to loud and angry, enough for the officers in the jailhouse to lift their heads to look their way.  Dutch just smiled and offered his apologies.

 

“Do you want me to leave you here?  If you don't shut up, I just might.” Dutch whispered.  He had gotten most of the drying, tacky blood scrubbed from Arthur's skin, but there was nothing he could do for the wet stains on his collar.

 

“Leave me!  Go on. Don’ want me that's fine.  No one’ll have me.” Arthur said, his loud voice dropping in volume as soon as Dutch shushed him, but he kept rambling.  “I don’t need you. They promised me I could stay.”

 

“Those men would tell you anything.”  Dutch said. He knew how close they had gotten to him being too late.  Callum could have rode off with Arthur and they never would have seen him again. They weren’t men to take in an orphan out of the goodness of their hearts.  One of them tried to put their hands on Annabelle and the only punishment they got was a cut on the hand that they had gotten from Arthur. Dutch whispered to him, voice soft so no one else would hear.  “They're cruel men and murderers and the best that could have happened if you went with them was you end up just like them. Or you would be dead right now. Or worse” 

 

Arthur wrinkled his nose.  “You’re a murderer.” He whispered it at least.  The words meant for only Dutch to hear.

 

“I am.  I know you’re angry but I’m not ashamed of what I am.  Yeah, I killed your pa, but this ain't about him and do you wish I hadn't? Do you expect me to believe you would rather still be with him?”  Dutch said softly. 

 

He was finally able to get Arthur’s face clean, the boy no longer struggling against him.  He had been given clean bandages and began to patch him up. Arthur didn’t say anything else.  He didn’t struggle any further. He leaned into Dutch's hands as he got cleaned and bandaged and then left on the cot while Dutch turned to talk to the officers across the room.

 

He was passed out by the time they were released, curled up on his side and drooling into his cot.  Sober, Arthur was a fairly light sleeper and hardly ever made a sound. Tonight, Dutch had to spend several minutes trying to shake him awake, each word he tried to speak to him drowned out by a loud snore.  As soon as Arthur mumbled a sound and fluttered his eyes open, Dutch was dragging him to his feet.

 

“Thank you, officers.  I can assure you, there won’t be anymore trouble from us tonight.”  Dutch said, tipping his cap at the two lawmen.

 

He dragged Arthur out into the cool night air and hoped that after napping for a few hours and getting fresh air again, Arthur was capable of thinking clearly enough to be quiet.  At least until they got back to their room, or made camp somewhere. He walked quickly, hands gripping Arthur’s arms as he went, practically dragging the boy who stumbled too much to catch his footing.

 

They found Mayflower exactly where they had left her, tied to the post outside of the saloon.  Most of the other horses were gone at this point, the building was still lit up and people still drank and gambled inside, but any and all decent folk had long gone home to bed.  He looked around, searching for any lingering O’Driscolls. Perhaps they stayed to drink but Dutch hoped they had run off as soon as Arthur was rounded up by the law, whatever they wanted with him was ruined for the night.

 

“Off a me.”  Arthur mumbled, quiet and tired.  He was trying to haul him up onto Mayflower.

 

“It’ll be easier to get you home if you’re on the horse.  I don’t want to drag you the whole way.” Dutch said.

 

“Ain’t goin’ home.  You’re a liar.” Arthur said.  He kept trying to wiggle out of Dutch’s arms, kept trying to push himself away, and still on unstable legs.

 

Dutch let go, letting Arthur’s body weight slip from his hold and the boy tumbled to the ground.  He hit the dirt with a soft thud and pained grown, a hand reaching up to hold at his face. Dutch took a step back and watched him.  He had a distaste for drunkards, at least the kind who drank themselves stupid and lost control of themselves. He tried not to be annoyed with Arthur, the boy had been freshly abandoned and left to fall into bad hands.  It was Dutch’s own doing.

 

“Alright, yes.  I’m a liar. And I’m sorry.  But we can have this discussion when you’re sober and rested.  First, let's get you back so you can have a warm dry place to sleep, unless you would rather lay here in the mud.”  Dutch said.

 

Arthur looked pathetic, sitting up on the ground and his hand reaching up to rub at his bandaged chin.  It had been a nasty gash, catching the corner of the post as he fell against it. Dutch had many questions, like why Arthur had tried to run or why he was drinking with the O’Driscolls in the first place.  The questions would wait for later.

 

Dutch reached down for Arthur and the boy smacked at his hand.

 

“Get away from me.”  Arthur shouted.

 

“Do you want me to leave you here?  I still will!” Dutch hissed.

 

He reached down again, grabbing at the boy with a bit more frustration.  He yanked Arthur off of the ground, two hands curled into his shirt. And then the knife was out again, reflecting the dim light.  It was held tightly in Arthur’s hand, pointing at Dutch threateningly. Arthur’s eyes were wide, red and bloodshot. For a single moment, Dutch stared at the boy and wondered how terrified he was, if this was a threat out of anger or fear.  He was breathing heavily, shaking and gasping. One hand gripped tightly at Dutch’s wrist, the other still holding the knife.

 

“Leave me.”

 

“I’m a liar, remember.  I'm all talk. I’m not leaving you here.”  Dutch said.

 

“You don’t want me.”  Arthur said. He dropped his hand, the knife slipping out of his grip and falling to the ground.  He reached up and rubbed his hand across his face, looking around the steps of the saloon, lifting his head to see through the windows.

 

“Come on.  Your chin will feel worse in the morning so it’ll be best for you to be well rested when that happens.  You’ll feel less cranky.” Dutch said. He moved his hands, careful not to let Arthur drop again, and went to hold his shoulders instead of having him grabbed by the front of his shirt.  It was an easier hold, more secure and less aggressive.

 

“I hurt my face.”  Arthur mumbled.

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

“M’I ugly now?”

 

“You’ve always been ugly.”

 

Arthur laughed at that.  He pressed his hand against his face and his body shook as he tried and failed to hold it in.  Dutch smiled, his hands settling securely on his shoulders and let Arthur calm himself down. It was getting late, past the time they were supposed to meet back up at the hotel, but there seemed to be no point in trying to get Arthur to hurry.

 

“I ain’t ugly!  I heard th’ I was lovely.  Lovely! Maybe, you’re ugly.”  Arthur said, jabbing his finger at Dutch.

 

“Oh, someone said you were lovely.  And you call me the liar?” Dutch asked.

 

“He said nice things.  Promised a lotta nice things.  Where he go?”

 

“Doesn’t matter.  I’m getting you home, Annabelle and Hosea both miss you.  We were worried.” Dutch said. He took a step back, experimenting on whether or not Arthur was ready to come with him.  Arthur stumbled with him, carefully moving towards the horse. Dutch gripped his arms to keep him upright and leaned him against Mayflower.

 

“You a liar.”  Arthur said again, turning his head to spit onto the ground at their feet.

 

“We can figure that out in the morning.”  Dutch said.

 

At some point he managed to get Arthur actually onto the horse, leading the them down the road towards their hotel.  Arthur kept talking, either nonsense or an attempt at an argument. He swayed in his seat, but Dutch counted it as a blessing that Arthur managed to stay in the seat, hand gripped tightly to the horn of the saddle.  The boy’s eyes drifted closed and Dutch slowed down, but Arthur didn’t fall off, he was unsteady but he didn’t let himself lean far enough to fall.

 

When they made it to the hotel, all the windows were empty.  Dutch tied off the horse next to the others, grabbed a few things from the saddlebags, and helped Arthur down from the saddle.  He was moving, but he had gone silent, his eyes hardly open at all, and he was no doubt moments away from passing out again.

 

“If you need to throw up, do it now while we’re outside.”  Dutch said, reaching up to pat Arthur’s shoulder.

 

He expected Arthur to say something back, something slurred and angry, but Arthur stayed quiet.  Dutch helped him off the horse, letting Arthur lean on her for support, face pressed against the saddle as he almost started to drool again.  He pulled Arthur’s arm over his shoulder and brought him inside.

 

Arthur shouldn’t be awake.  He had been ready to sleep in the jail but Dutch had shaken him awake and he lost what energy he had left babbling like a buffoon.  It was easy, getting Arthur to stumble against him, lean on him for support, as Dutch took him upstairs. It was very easy, cold and sick thoughts swirled in his head, ideas of how easy it would have been for the O’Driscolls to do anything to this child.  He didn’t trust them.

 

He didn’t trust how they looked at his people.  He didn’t like how they claimed dominion over every land they happened to come across, demanding a share of what they had gotten in their own robbery, when the O’Driscolls had demanded that wagon.  They were the kind of people who took without thought.

 

He managed to get their door open.  Annabelle and Hosea were sitting at the small table, leaning in close as they spoke.  The fire burned low in the fireplace, but it still managed to warm up the whole room. As soon as Dutch came in, dragging the sleeping boy in with him, they jumped to their feet.

 

“Oh lord, what happened to him?”  Annabelle said, hands outstretched to take Arthur’s face and hold it.  “Is he alright? Bring him in here.”

 

“He’s fine.  Just a drunken fool.  I found him gambling in some saloon with a handful of O’Driscoll boys.”  Dutch said. He tapped on Arthur’s shoulder until the boy lifted his head slightly and hummed, then let Annabelle take him once he was sure Arthur wouldn’t topple over the moment he let go.

 

Annabelle put a hand on Arthur’s back and lead him to the bed, having him sit down on the edge of it so she could get a better look at him.  She held his face, turning it in her hands. It was bruising, the dark marks starting to peek up from under the bandages. His skin was pale from a hard night of drinking and getting sick.

 

“Did they do this to him?”  Hosea asked, stepping up next to Dutch.

 

He shook his head.  “They got him drunk, is all.  Arthur is the one who tried to run from the police and planted his face against the signpost.”  He said. It had been funny, looking back on it. The desperate dart for a horse he didn’t have time to untie.  The shaky legs flailing as he went down. The loud thud as Arthur landed against it.

 

“Why were you running from the police?”  Hosea said.

 

As soon as Arthur’s head hit the pillow, Dutch knew he was gone.  He started snoring again, loud and nasally. Hosea stepped forward, dropping to his knees to help pull Arthur’s boots off of his feet and get his legs tucked up onto the bed while Annabelle pulled the blanket up to his shoulders.

 

“We weren’t.  Arthur and the O’Driscolls were ‘disturbing the peace’.  I had almost talked the two of us out of it, when this boy started arguing against everything I said.  And then he ran.” Dutch said. Annabelle poured some water to leave by the bed for Arthur and then brought another glass to Dutch.  “He’s angry, rightfully so, but he is an unbearable drunk. Almost a dead one if I hadn’t stepped in. Callum O’Driscoll was just about to drag him away.”

 

Dutch was exhausted.  The little energy he had today had been drained from him the past few hours.  He slumped against the chair and gulped the water down.

 

“I don’t trust that man.  I don’t like any of them.”  Annabelle said. She reached out and ran her fingers through Dutch’s hair, standing by his side while Hosea looked down at the boy.

 

“Did they follow you back?”  Hosea asked.

 

Dutch shook his head.  “I didn’t see anyone.”

 

“We should leave in the morning.  Head west like we planned. And no one lets Arthur out of their sight.”  Hosea said. He took a moment to look down at Arthur, at his bruised and swelling face, mouth hanging open and pressed against the clean pillow.  “He’ll feel like shit in the morning. Just let me handle it. You two take the other room.”

 

Dutch didn’t argue.  He let Hosea make the plans and take over with Arthur.  His patience for the boy was running thin for the night and he could only imagine how much trouble he would be in the morning when all the pain catches up with him.  Hosea could deal with the trouble of it all. Arthur would be sober enough to think, to fully remember what they had done with a clear mind. If Hosea wanted to handle the first few hours of the morning with Arthur’s hungover anger, then Dutch wasn’t going to argue.  Right now he just wanted to sleep.

 

He and Annabelle got settled in the second room they had purchased.  He kicked off his boots and tossed half his clothes onto the ground. He left his rings and pocketwatch on the table and sat on the edge of the bed, groaning with exhaustion.  Annabelle’s hands found his shoulders, squeezing tight to dig into tense muscle. He had done what he had set out to do. He found Arthur, brought him back safe and he was asleep in a warm bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They talked but it didnt do much good. Nothing can really be done until Arthur is sober enough to have a conversation.
> 
> But Dutch fulfilled his mission, deliver Arthur to Hosea and Annabelle. Now he needs a nap.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enough of me obsessing over trying to get this chapter right. Here's 3k of them TRYING to talk about their feelings.

Dutch woke up to the sound of something shattering.  The loud scrape of wood against the floor and a few muffled voices.  He lifted his head, hand reaching under his pillow for a gun he had forgotten to put there.  It took him a moment to remember that he wasn’t in his tent, but a hotel. An empty room, the sounds coming from next door.

 

And he remembered.  He had practically dragged Arthur home, drunk and injured and upset, and into the room he now heard the commotion from.  He jumped to his feet and started looking for his boots, picking his shirt up off the ground to pull over his shoulders and quickly button.  His ears strained as he tried to hear what was going on in the room next to him.

 

There was no reason for this mess.  No reason for things to have gotten so out of hand so suddenly.  All their plans had been lined up for a while, get money and head out west.  A child never really fit into their ideas. Arthur was a child, almost a man but still too far off for it to count.  They were delayed, with enough money to get them far from this county and into the next where they could keep going. Delayed for a child they had all decided rather suddenly they wanted to keep and Dutch had no plans in place to take it into account.  The idea was always to leave Arthur somewhere at some point.

 

He finished getting himself decent and made his way out the door.  He marched into the next room and froze, looking over the situation.  Arthur was kneeling by the bed, his boots by his feet but he was nearly bent over to the floor, his head in his hands.  Annabelle and Hosea stood closer to Dutch, near the door to give the boy space. She stood behind Hosea, just over his shoulder, flinching when Dutch reached out and touched her shoulder.

 

“He was waking up.  I only offered him a glass of water.”  She said softly.

 

Broken glass covered the floor, sparkling in the light.  A table had been shoved, pressed sideways against the dark fireplace.  A chair had been knocked over onto the ground near Hosea. Everything sat between them, acting as markers separating the three of them from Arthur.

 

“What happened?”  Dutch asked.

 

“I went to give him some water and he smacked it from my hands.”  Annabelle whispered, her eyes not once leaving the hunched over boy on the other side of the room.  “He told me to get away from him.”

 

“Arthur?”  Dutch said.

 

“Go away.”  Arthur mumbled, his hands pressed harder against his eyes before they dropped to his side.  “I’m leaving. Gimme a minute and I’m leaving.”

 

“Just relax, son.  You’re likely in a lot of pain.”  Dutch said slowly. He pulled Annabelle back, easing her to step behind him.  He leaned in close to her. “Are you alright?”

 

She nodded.  “Of course I am.  Don't be a fool.” She whispered back to him and nodded towards Arthur.  “He's not.”

 

It was very clear that Arthur was not alright.  He was removing the bandages, leaving them in a pile on the floor next to him.  The cut on his chin had scabbed over and it hadn't swollen as much as Dutch originally thought it would.  There was dried blood sticking to the area where the bandages had been and dark bruises formed along his chin and a few inches up the left side of his face.  It looked painful, even without the hangover the boy was likely suffering from as well.

 

Arthur grabbed his boots and started to pull them on.  He leaned over, leaning heavily against the wall. His face twisted into a grimace, his eyes squeezed shut.  Dutch could only imagine how bad Arthur's head was hurting at the moment. He winced, letting out a soft grunt as he got it pulled over his heel.

 

“You can stop now, son.” Hosea said, reaching for the knocked over chair and setting it upright again.

 

“I won't.”

 

“Arthur please.  Lets just have a seat.” Annabelle said, stepping from around Dutch to take the other chair, Hosea already sitting in the one he picked up.  Dutch stood by the door, because unless he wanted to walk across the room and sit on the bed a few feet from where Arthur was pouting at his boots there was nowhere else to sit.  Annabelle just waved him off. “We can talk about this. We will leave together once we work this out.”

 

“Is this some goddamn joke?  Haha we made that poor woman read that awful letter so dumb Arthur thinks we left while he was gone.  Hilarious.” Arthur said, his tone stiff and low. His jaw clenched while he spoke. “What’s next? You gonna tie me up and throw me in the river?  Put a gun to my head and tell me to beg? So full of jokes, huh. We just gonna laugh it off? Things go back to normal and I pretend like you didn’t pay them five hundred dollars to get me away from you?”

 

Arthur started to get his second boot on.  The simple gesture was showing to be difficult for him this morning, his body leaning too far over to find support, his stiff movements, and each look of pain that crossed his face.  He was probably sore and exhausted, more discomfort added on top of the pain from his bashed in face and headache. Beads of sweat were already forming on his brow.

 

“It wasn’t a joke, Arthur.  We’re being serious right now.”  Dutch said.

 

Arthur looked over to them, shaking his head.  “I don’t need you, you know. I don’t.”

 

“We know, Arthur.”  Hosea said.

 

“Why did y’all come get me?  You said you were leaving.”

 

Arthur’s eyes moved between them, waiting for answers from one of them.  An explanation on why they came back, why they left him to begin with. Arthur shifted, bracing his hands on the floor as he pushed himself upwards, sitting on the edge of the bed.  At their level, Dutch no longer got the feeling he was staring the boy down, the three of them just high enough to tower over him. Now they just looked straight at Arthur, and he looked straight back at them.

 

“We came back because of the O’Driscolls.”  Dutch said. He was going to be honest, speak the truth and leave Arthur to decide how to feel about it.  “They met us on the road, tried intimidating us into handing over our money. So wrapped up in their greed they must not have been satisfied by their own haul and wanted to dip into ours as well.  When we declined, there was an implication that they would go after you.”

 

“So you came back for me because the O’Driscolls made an  _ implication?”   _ Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose.

 

“They’re outlaws, given how poorly the first meeting went it would be best to treat them with caution.  There is so much wilderness in this country son, full of wild and dangerous things and I'm not just talking about animals.  An implication is more certain to us out here than any law is.” Dutch said. 

 

“You guys are outlaws.”  Arthur said.

 

“You may not see us as different, but we are.”  Hosea said. He waved a hand at Annabelle. “What would have happened to her if you hadn’t been there when they showed up at camp?  What would they have done if no one was there to stop that man’s wandering hands?”

 

Arthur looked down at his boots, his expression twisting as he tucked his chin in close to his chest.  “Y’all aren’t different.”

 

“Maybe we're not, but we try to be.  They don't seem to try at all.” Hosea said.  Arthur looked up at him, his eyes darting to the older man and then back down to his boots.  Dutch saw it, he knew Hosea did too. “If they would have gotten you they would have either killed you or turned them as ruthless as they are.  We’re bad men, but we ain’t them. We didn’t want to see you turn into one of them.”

 

Hosea cleared his throat as he finished speaking, his body leaned slightly forward towards Arthur.  They waited to see if the boy would say anything, acknowledge what could have happened to Annabelle, what had probably happened to many other good people the O’Driscolls came across.

 

“They probably said some nice things to you.  Made you feel welcome and warm, nit so lonely.”  Hosea said with a slight shake of the head. “You nearly sliced off one man's fingers and they don't seem to like Dutch and I much.  Whether you like it or not you're an associate of ours. They wouldn't invite to drink, not without a reason.”

 

“How much of last night do you remember?”  Dutch asked.

 

Arthur shrugged.

 

“Do you remember the O’Driscolls finding you?”  He said. Arthur nodded. “Do you remember drinking with them?”  He nodded again. “Do you remember if they asked about your money?  Asked you to come with them?”

 

“No.”  Arthur said, shaking his head.  “They just wanted to go drinking.”

 

“So you don’t remember them dragging you out into the street and trying to put you on one of their horses?  You don’t remember anything they said to you?” Dutch asked. “You don't remember how he grabbed you, ready to haul you away in the dead of night while you were too drunk to do a damn thing?  I found you gambling with a lot more than just money.”

 

“Does it matter?  Why do you care? You guys left me, whatever happened wasn’t your business.”  Arthur said firmly. He looked up then, not a quick and cautious glance. He lifted his head and looked Dutch straight in the eyes.  “You came after me because of them. You didn’t care if I made it to the orphanage or if I got lost or shot or even just wandered off.  You just didn’t want them to have me. Because they wanted me?”

 

“They were going to ruin you.”  Dutch said.

 

“There’s nothing much to ruin.”  He said, raising his arms in a shrug, gesturing to himself.  “The son of a rapist, murdering thief and you’re scared I might run off with a bunch of them?”

 

“Yes, Arthur!”  Annabelle said, her voice loud and demanding as she cut in.  “Jesus boy, aren’t you listening. We don’t want you ending up like that.  I didn’t want you ending up like that. It was my idea, sending you away. I wanted you to get some schooling, get some learning.  Maybe a real teacher so you could finally get the hang of reading, not just me with a handful of old books. I wanted you in that orphanage because then you would have a chance.  But if it came down to it I would rather you be an outlaw with us than an outlaw with them.”

 

She spoke fast, each word more desperate and demanding than the next.  She was a good woman with good intentions and Dutch admired her for that.  She was honest and tried to get her ideas out as clearly as she could. She wanted Arthur to understand.

 

“There was never a chance for me.”  Arthur said, shaking his head. “Honestly, it's more believable that you came all the way here to get Mayflower back.  That’s what I’m going with. You can have her.”

 

“Arthur.”

 

“Stop!”  The boy snapped.  He pushed himself up, reaching up to rub his hands against his face and groaned.  “Leave me alone. I’m gone, alright. I don't want any more jokes or lies or excuses.  I just want to be left alone now.”

 

“Then why did you follow us?  You say you want to be alone but originally, you're the one who followed us.”  Dutch asked, cutting in as Arthur took a single step towards them, his eyes on the door.  “I shot your daddy and you followed us home. Why?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.  Just get out of my way before I move you.”  Arthur said, his hands curled into fists.

 

“You matter, whether you think I'm lying or not.  I want to know what made you come to us. Why did you follow us?  We hunted your father down, I pointed my gun at him, and shot him in front of you.  Now, I didn’t see you and had I known the man had a son maybe I would have done things differently, but I still shot him.  Did that make you angry at me? Do you despise me?” Dutch said. He widened his stance, not entirely blocking the door but making it known that he was there, standing in front of it with no intent on moving.

 

“I don’t know.”  Arthur said. He stood still, staring at Dutch, glancing at the other two who stayed in their seats.

 

“It’s a yes or no question son.”

 

“I don’t know what despise means.”

 

Arthur shrugged as he said it, but his body didn’t lose any of its tension.  His hands stayed at fists at his side. Dutch tried not to find it funny. He tried not to laugh when they were having a serious conversation, trying desperately to convince Arthur to come with them and not have to be alone in the world where men like the O’Driscolls or worse could snatch him away and no one would know.

 

“Do you hate me?  Do you wish I was dead?  Did you follow us those weeks back because you had some burning desire to get revenge after what I did?”  Dutch didn’t spare the details. He didn’t try to sugarcoat what he had done. Annabelle was the only one who didn’t have the details, all the rest of them had seen it.  The rest of them were there. “Or were you lost and needed a place to be. It's okay to be lost, son. We're lost too and thought we could save you from that.”

 

“No.”  Arthur said.

 

“No to what?  All of it?” Dutch asked.  Arthur didn’t answer, he looked over to Hosea instead.  He looked the man up and down and Dutch wondered what Arthur saw.  “Why did you follow us, son? There is a reason for everything. We sent you to an orphanage so you didn't have to end up like us and we came to get you so you wouldn't end up like them.  It's that simple.”

 

“I didn’t follow you!”  Arthur snapped, his face scrunching up as he took another few steps towards Dutch.  His hand flung up and for a moment Dutch thought Arthur was going to hit him. “I followed him!”

 

His finger pointed straight at Hosea.  The man’s eyebrows drew together tightly, face curling into a confused frown.

 

“You followed me.”  Hosea repeated. 

 

“Of course I did.”  Arthur said. He shouted, shoulders shaking as his hand fell back down to his side.  He turned on Dutch, a few more steps and he was now inches from his face. “You think I give a shit about you, old fool?  You dragged his body away and I could have followed you, but I didn’t. I could have killed you and buried him, but I just didn't want to see him anymore.  I followed Hosea down to the road and towards town. You know why? He gave me twenty dollars and he looked me in the eye and told me ‘revenge is a fool’s game’ and then I followed him and bought candy and cigarettes and lost the rest in a dice game while he waited for you at the saloon.”

 

Those weeks back, when they had been paid to kill the man, they had separated when it was done.  Dutch took the man’s body to the ranchers who paid to have him dead. So the poor girl he raped could see what had happened to him.  So the ranch hands could have peace knowing that no petty thief would continue to steal away their livelihood. And Hosea went to wait for him in town, gather supplies to bring back to camp.  They hadn’t noticed Arthur was following them until they had reunited at the end of the day.

 

“You gave him twenty dollars?”  Dutch asked, looking over to Hosea.  “They only paid us seventy to kill him.”

 

As soon as the words left his mouth Arthur moved.  Hands grabbed the collar of Dutch’s shirt and with a surprising amount of strength Arthur slammed him against the wall, the pictures shaking where they hung.  Hosea and Annabelle jumped to their feet.

 

“Why can't you shut up?  Why do you always got something to say?  You think I followed you for revenge? I have no one!”  Arthur said, his grip on Dutch so tight his knuckles turned white from strain, his body trembling with it.  “I don't have anywhere. You dragged off my pa and I didn't have anyone anymore. I thought…”

 

“Arthur sweetheart.” Annabelle said, but Hosea held her back and stopped her from going to him.

 

Arthur continued on, not even looking back at them.  “I thought I was doing good. I tried. I did. Pa hated me no matter how hard I tried to be good for him.  I was quiet. I did chores. I thought you guys were happy with me. I just wanted to be somewhere and have somebody.”

 

Hosea put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, slow as if he was approaching a spooked horse.  The boy tore his eyes away from Dutch to look back at him.

 

“Come on, son.  Let you and me go down to the horses, get some fresh air and get our heads on straight.”  Hosea said slowly. He waited until Arthur finally loosened his grip on Dutch. “We can go outside and talk.  Figure out what you want to do. After we've said our piece, if you still want to go, I'll let you.”

 

Dutch didn't argue and neither did Annabelle.  Hosea had his own way with words and an understanding of things that Dutch didn't always see.  And so far no grand bits of speech he had for Arthur had done any good. Arthur had so much anger in him that had been simmering for so long, since before they had found him.  Hidden under politeness and some desperate need to be good and to belong somewhere.

 

“Are you lying again?  All you people do is lie to me.”  Arthur said.

 

Hosea shook his head.  “No son. But this cramped room is doing nothing good for your headache and if you think I'm lying then you can run off easier out there.  Just come on.”

 

Hosea was able to get Arthur out the door without tensions boiling over again.  No fists flew, no more angry words were barked out, and still the only thing that was broken was a single glass cup.  Annabelle collapsed into her seat as soon as the door closed, burying her face in her hands. Dutch just focused on picking up.

 

“We shouldn't have crowded him.  He just woke up. He's in pain.” She whispered.  He dumped the broken glass in the trash, reaching out and putting a hand on her shoulder.

 

“He's alright.  Fresh air will do him good.  Hosea is more patient than I am, he will get through to that boy.”  Dutch said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthurs just heartbroken and now a bit cautious of them. Maybe theyre trying too hard to fix things or maybe things can't be fixed. Maybe Arthur just needs some tylenol for his head and he'll be okay again. Maybe words won't fix things between them.
> 
> Still, things won't be the same for the four of them.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments, they mean the world to me


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it is universally decided that Hosea IS the new father

Dutch looked out the window of the hotel room as they waited.  He watched the horses and carriages passing on the streets, the crowds of people going from one place to another.  It was practically a city, no place he ever enjoyed being. It was always crowded, the air always smelled of filth, and there was no freedom here.  Not in civilization, so densely packed and loud.

 

It worked for most people.  Life was easier here than in the middle of the wilderness.  Dutch just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand being here and acting like he could live like this.  These people likely enjoyed everything city life came with, they just had to go down to the butcher and get meat, the general store for their groceries, and a hotel for a warm bed.  Dutch had gotten too accustomed to hunting, killing, and sleeping on the ground near a fire. At least then he was free, not bound by laws and rules and societal customs.

 

He couldn’t see Hosea and Arthur from their window.  He couldn’t get a clear view of their horses from up here.  He couldn’t tell if they were down there now or if they had taken a walk down the road.  Maybe to the saloon again, drink off the boy’s headache to make him more agreeable and less upset.  Maybe they went down to the store for supplies. Maybe they were just waiting by the hitching post, discussing their options.

 

Hosea might just be good on his word, that if Arthur wanted to leave, really wanted to leave after their talk, then he would let him go.  It wouldn’t turn out that way. Not after all the trouble they went to come get him. He was almost certain he had saved Arthur last night.  If that boy disappeared with Callum O’Driscoll then he would never be seen or heard from again. A mystery no one cared enough to solve except for them.  Arthur had no one to look for him except for them.

  
“What are you thinking about?”  Annabelle said. She had gone around and picked up the hotel room, making sure that all the furniture was upright and in a proper spot.  The room looked nearly untouched when they were done with it, besides the broken glass in a bucket, the last bit of evidence of Arthur’s anger this morning.

 

“I’m thinking about heading West.  So much open space and so little of the government.  It’s gonna be beautiful, finally getting out there. Do you think Arthur’s ever been?”  Dutch asked her.

 

She shrugged.  “He has never said anything about it.”

 

“He will love it.  There’s too much wildness inside him to be happy here.”  Dutch said, nodding to himself. Of course the orphanage was a mistake.  That place would have never made anything of Arthur, the boy would have resisted it too much.  That boy seemed to resist everything, even his own nature.

 

Annabelle hummed.  She was putting out the fire in the fireplace, forcing it to die down and the warm glow of light in the room was snuffed out.  “You’re probably right. It’s too loud here.” She said.

 

They were country folk, the lot of them.  They could deal with the sound of wolves and owls and crickets at all hours of the night but just sitting in their room and hearing the hooting and hollering of early rising city folk was not something they could handle.  Dutch especially. This room felt small. More walls than he was used to.

 

Annabelle let out a soft sigh and Dutch wrinkled his nose.  He knew she wasn’t happy. Why would she be? Dutch had wasted their time, precious days they could be travelling.  He didn’t want to linger on the past, but had he not sent that letter they wouldn’t be here. If he hadn’t sent Arthur away, they would be on their way and the boy would be happy.

 

“He’s upset, he’ll get over it.”  Dutch said.

 

Annabelle lifted her head to look at him.  “He told me to get away from him. He smacked the cup out of my hands.  He had never been so… rough like that. Never so angry with me.” She said slowly, her voice dropping closer and closer to a whisper the more she spoke.  She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. “What happened to his father?”

 

He had never told her the exact story.  Dutch and Hosea had come home with him following a few yards behind on foot.  They knew he was there, they knew he was lost, and in some unspoken agreement they let him follow them home.  They brought home a stray and Annabelle was smitten, that had been all there was to it until now.

 

“I shot him.”  Dutch said. He shrugged his shoulders.  He shot many people and likely orphaned many sons, he stopped letting each one weigh on his soul.  “He was a bad man and I’m not sorry I did it. A couple of homesteaders wanted him gone, rightfully so.  Arthur was in the tent, I didn’t see him when I shot the man, but the boy saw me do it.”

 

Annabelle hummed, nodding her head up and down, her eyes never leaving his.  “He came home with all those bruises. That wasn’t you?”

 

“Of course not.”  Dutch said quickly.

 

“Alright.”  Annabelle let out another sigh, her shoulders dropping some.  “And his mother?”

 

Dutch shook his head.  There was no sign of a woman at the camp.  No mention of her from anyone. “It was just the two of them.”

 

“You should have told me.”

 

“I know.”

 

Annabelle let her eyes drop down to her hands, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.  “He needs some good mothering is all. Needs to be convinced we won’t leave him. Hosea will convince him to stay with us.  I’ll handle the rest.” She said. Mostly to herself, her words hardly loud enough to reach the other side of the room where Dutch stood by the window.

 

She was making a plan, or attempting to.  Sometimes knowing what one was going to do made everything a whole lot easier to bear.  They waited, turning away the maid, for Hosea and Arthur to come back. They tried to keep busy, but they were in a place that wasn’t theirs and so there wasn’t much they could do to it.  No dishes to clean or supplies to sort. Just a hotel room full of things they didn’t need.

 

The door opened and Annabelle jumped to her feet, taking a single step towards it.  Dutch stayed by the window to keep his distance. Hosea stepped inside. Only Hosea and, as Annabelle tried to peer around him, he closed the door.

 

“Where’s Arthur?  You didn’t seriously let him leave, did you?”  She asked quickly.

 

She grabbed hold of the front of Hosea’s shirt, holding him tight and Dutch wondered if she was going to start shaking the man.  Hosea reached out, hands settling on Annabelle’s arms, he tried to calm her down as she was bouncing on her toes.

 

“He’s downstairs.  But listen, we had a good long talk.  A very good talk. And at the end of it I was coming upstairs to get you and that if he still wanted to leave, he could have Mayflower and if he really wanted to run then he can while I’m up here.  That would be the end of it.” Hosea said. He was squeezing Annabelle’s arms, his tone calm and easy. “But I told him if he waited, he could stay with us. Forever if he wanted. And we would treat him as equal, we won’t lie to him and send him away again, and that we would keep him safe.”

 

“That was all?  You boys had a chat; then said if he wanted to run this was his chance, and then you came up here?”  Dutch asked. His heart was beating fast. As fast as it did for any gun fight. “You should have brought him up here.”

 

“If Arthur feels trapped then he’ll just fight harder to get away.”  Hosea said.

 

“I would have talked to him.  If I can just get him to understand that we represent safety for him, that the world take lonely people, chews them up, and spits them out again, then he would really see that staying with us is the best option.”  Dutch said, walking up to his friend. Hosea stayed where he was, standing between the rest of them and the door. He was giving Arthur as much time as he needed. “Arthur has made it clear he doesn’t want to join civilization, he doesn’t want a life living straight.  We gave him that chance and he found other outlaws in the saloon. If he wants to be an outlaw, we can give that to him, and we can give him all the safety and freedom he needs.”

 

Hosea lifted a hand and shook his head, trying to silence Dutch’s rambles.  “That boy doesn’t need lectures about the world, or your philosophy of it. He doesn’t care what you think is civilized or what freedom is.  He cares that we abandoned him and he cares that we came back for him.” Hosea said. He let his hands fall, shoving them into his pockets. “He just needs a minute to think.  Once he feels safe with us again, then you can indoctine him into your ideas. Preach to him and half the words are too big for him to understand.”

 

“I haven’t been preaching much.”  Dutch said. “Not recently.”

 

Hosea smiled, giving a curt nod.  “That, in itself, is a miracle.”

 

Annabelle was back to bouncing on her toes, slowly easing towards the door as the two men talked back and forth.  She was wringing her hands in front of her, squeezing her knucles tight and rubbing at the skin until. She was nervous.  Dutch could see it clearly in the way she held and moved herself. They had all gotten attached to Arthur in the one way they were trying not to.  They cared about him. Wanted him safe and warm with them as if he was one of their own children.

 

Hosea pulled a hand out of his pocket and looked at his watch.  He took a deep breath. Dutch didn’t know what time it was, or how far Hosea wanted the second hand to go before he said anything, but he was a patient man.  At least he wanted to be.

 

“It’s about time now.  Everything all ready to go?”  Hosea asked.

 

Annabelle was already nodding.  “Yes. Yes, I got it all ready.”  She said. They had only brought in what they didn’t want stolen.

 

Dutch and Hosea carried things down as Annabelle settled things with the clerk.  Everything was paid for, everything was settled, and Dutch and Hosea waited for her at the door.  Dutch didn’t want to walk out there without her. He didn’t want to see whatever was out there, Arthur or no one at all, and know that she was going to find out a few seconds later.  He wanted them to know together.

 

He held his breath, unusually afraid.  A few weeks back, he didn’t bat an eye at leaving the boy at that small hillside camp where they found him.  They took the man’s body and left. Today, Dutch wanted nothing more than for Arthur to come with them, now that the orphanage was clearly impossible.

 

They opened the door and the three of them stepped out with their bags.  The horses were a little ways down the posts. Sitting on the edge of the porch in front of Mayflower, legs kicking over the side, was Arthur.  His arms sat limply at his sides, his head tilted back to take in the sun, and his eyes were closed. Dutch saw Annabelle sway with relief, stepping in for her to lean against him if she needed it.

 

“Good morning Arthur.”  She said as they walked up to him and the horses.  His eyes opened, his head turning to look at them, but he didn’t say a thing.  Annabelle walked closer. “It’s a lovely day. A good day for travel. We’re heading West now, you’ll love it.”

 

Arthur nodded, standing up and taking the bags from her hands, still without a word.

 

“Annabelle can ride with me.  I know how much you and Mayflower have been getting along the past few days.”  Dutch said, walking up to his own horse to start loading things away. His eyes always strayed back to Arthur.  “Maybe we should get you your own horse soon. Unless Annabelle feels it in her heart to let you have hers.”

 

Arthur nodded again.  Dutch looked to Hosea, an eyebrow raised.  The man only shook his head and turned away, leaving Dutch with his confusion.

 

“You ever been West, son?”  Dutch asked. Arthur didn’t answer him, he was loading the supplies onto the horses.  “Arthur.”

 

The boy finally turned to look at him.  His eyes were firm, his jaw clenched tight despite the likely pain from the cut and bruises.  “Yes, sir. I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever it was Hosea said to him, it seemed to be enough to make him stay, but not enough for them to he on good speaking terms again.


	12. Chapter 12

The shot rang out and Dutch had to squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose.  He let out a huff of air and shook his head.

 

“What?”  Arthur said, standing a few feet behind him.  “You told me to shoot it.”

 

“It's a rabbit.  You don't shoot rabbits with a shotgun.”  Dutch said.

 

“You told me to grab the gun from the horse.”

 

“But not that gun.”  Dutch said. It had been Hosea's idea for him to take Arthur hunting.  They had been out of the city for a few days and in that time had no trouble with the O'Driscolls or the law.  It would appear that bank job had caused very few long term problems.

 

Except for Arthur, of course, who had hardly said more than three sentences to them at a time since they left.  The conversations were short and stunted, purposely held back.

 

It was written in Arthur's face, the tight clench of his jaw and the stiffness if his shoulders.  He puffed out his cheeks some but didn't say another word, just put the gun back on the horse and stomped his feet as he walked up to what was left of the rabbit.  It had mostly been obliterated, any decent meat the rabbit had was likely ruined, no one wanting to spit out shotgun pellets while eating rabbit cooked over an open fire.

 

They weren't desperate for food, had stocked up on enough canned meals to last the rest of the month, but they were short on meat.  They only could take enough for three horses to carry, for three adults it was mostly fine, but for a teenager added on it was near impossible to have enough supplies.  What the could use is a wagon, stock up on supplies before the long expanses of empty country the farther West they go. Get some food that wasn't a rabbit half destroyed by a shotgun blast.

 

“I'm not eating that.”  Dutch said as Arthur carried the rabbit back.  The thing wasn't salvageable.

 

“Whatever.”  Arthur said. He shrugged his shoulders and let the thing fall to the ground, discarded and intent on abandoning it.

 

It was just the one rabbit.  Perhaps Arthur just didn't know they couldn't hunt something small with a gun like that.  Dutch didn't know much about this boy, but he imagined his father didn't teach him much about hunting.

 

Dutch climbed onto his own horse.  “We can go a little ways farther up the stream.  You can try again.”

 

He waited for a response, but got none.  Arthur just sat on the horse and looked down at the water a little ways from where they stood, a short stream with maybe only a few inches of water in it.  They had made camp near it, hoping not to draw too much attention in the middle of those woods, not really knowing who might be out there with them. The stream so close meant good access to running water, which meant animals.

 

Dutch started making his way upwards, deeper into the wilderness and the stream grew wider.  Arthur followed a few feet behind him, eyes scanning the area calmly. There was some lack of focus in his eyes, a disinterest that didn’t sit right with Dutch.  Arthur had been reserved the past few days, quiet and put off. He always stood out of arm's reach these past few days, and rode Mayflower too far behind.

 

“I was thinking when we get to the next town, we could get another horse and a wagon.”  Dutch said. He looked at Arthur. The boy met his eyes and nodded, not making a sound. “The horse would be yours, but for the time being we could hook it and Mayflower up to the wagon and then we could carry more supplies.  More than a few bags full of canned food at least. That way our suppers won’t rely on picking shotgun pellets out of obliterated rabbit meat.”

 

He waited, looking back over his shoulder to Arthur.  The boy was still following him, still a few feet back and distant eyes looked over the water and the trees.  He seemed to like it, being this far deep in the woods. The trees had started to grow thicker and taller, the leaves acting like canopies to block out most of the sun.  It reminded him of that hillside forest they had found Arthur in. It surprised him, realizing how little and how much Arthur’s life had changed in the few weeks they had him for.

 

“We can get you a real tent too, something nice and sturdy.”  Dutch said.

 

“I’m fine.”  Arthur said, his voice finally chirping into the conversation.

 

“I know, but you can’t sleep on that single mat near the fire anymore.  You’re staying, you need your own tent. The West is a young and wild place, not a lot of towns and hotels we can hole ourselves into.”  Dutch said.

 

Arthur shrugged.

 

It was difficult to say if Arthur truly didn’t care, or if he was angry, or if he just didn’t want to say anything at all.  He had never been the most involved conversation partner, especially in the very beginning, but this was different. This was no conversation at all.

 

“You can buy your own horse, pick anything you want as long as we can hook a wagon to it later.”  Dutch said. When he was Arthur’s age, the thought of getting a new horse was exciting. He remembered how hard his heart pounded when he got his first horse, how much his hands had shook in excitement.

 

“I can’t.”  Arthur said.

 

“You can’t?”

 

Arthur shook his head.  “I don’t have money.”

 

They slowed the horses to a stop.  They had gone far enough from the last spot where they had found the rabbit.  Dutch could already see fresh tracks, the animals likely hadn’t gone far after Arthur’s shotgun fire.  They would find food out here.

 

“We gave you five hundred dollars a few days ago.”  Dutch said. A thousand, half for the orphanage, half for Arthur’s safe keeping.

 

“I don’t got it any more.”

 

“Well, what happened to it.”

 

Arthur shrugged, meeting Dutch’s eyes and then letting his shoulders fall with a soft sigh.  Dutch curled his hands tighter in the reins, holding his horse steady as he looked back at Arthur and tried not to get frustrated.  Children were stubborn, he reminded himself. They had less control, less strength, and it was his job to stay calm and work through it regardless.  Dutch never wanted children, not really. He never had a plan for them in his gang and he never really had a plan for life without being an outlaw. Children were never considered an option, and here one was missing five hundred dollars and stubbornly didn’t care.  Arthur stared at Dutch, holding his eyes with a defiance gaze.

 

“What happened to your money, Arthur?”  Dutch asked again. Five hundred was enough for a horse, a good saddle, and supplies for days.

 

“I lost it.”  Arthur said.

 

“You lost it?”

 

Arthur nodded.

 

“How did you lose it?”  Dutch asked. Spending time with this boy was starting to give him a headache and he was beginning to think Arthur was doing that on purpose.  He was deliberately being ridiculous as some mild form of revenge.

 

“I don’t remember.  I had it when I went to the saloon and the next day it was gone.  Maybe I gambled it.” Arthur said. He shrugged his shoulders again.  Then he looked back at Dutch, waiting for him to respond, waiting for anger no doubt.  Arthur’s hands gripped the reins and horn of the saddle so tightly that Dutch could see his knuckles go white, fingers straining against the strength of the grip.

 

“That’s alright.  It’s an inconvenience but not one that will break us.”  Dutch said. After he said it, he saw Arthur’s hands loosen, his grip releasing.  Arthur had been afraid, despite his best efforts to appear unconcerned or hesitant towards them, he was still afraid.  “Next time, try to be more careful.”

 

No fourteen year old child would somehow end up gambling away five hundred dollars without noticing.  Not when they were orphans on the street uncertain of their next meal. Not from Dutch’s experience at least.  Unless they were being plied with alcohol and had a grown man too sober and too attentive hanging over their shoulder.  Callum O’Driscoll, who had been Arthur’s friend for that night.

 

“Talk to Annabelle.  I’m sure she could teach you to gamble properly.”  Dutch said, lifting himself up to climb down from his horse.  “Now, lets teach you to hunt proper. With the proper guns. We’ll talk about the horses later.”

 

They could steal Arthur a horse if they needed.  It would be cheaper and it might just be easier too than dealing with annoying stable workers trying to get as much money as possible.  Dutch was the outlaw, but he believed many salesmen to be the real crooks. It would be a lesson Arthur needed to learn anyway, how to wait, find what he needed, and steal it successfully.

 

Dutch helped Arthur pick some decent hunting guns off of his horse.  He wanted to talk quietly to not disturb the surrounding forest, but Arthur kept trying to step back.  He kept trying to put distance between them despite Dutch’s best efforts to teach him which gun to use to kill which type of animal.

 

He had a few guns, a few rifles and revolvers and shotguns, enough to give Arthur a general feel for the weapons.  He let the boy hold them, turn them over in his hands, unloaded and still with Dutch’s insistence that he never put his finger on the trigger unless he was ready to kill something.  He explained, which ones could be used on which type of animal.

 

“Ain’t this the one?”  Arthur said, curling his fingers tightly around the gun when Dutch handed him one of the revolvers.

 

“To use on rabbits?  Sure, it is. It’ll take a few bullets to take down something larger, but it’ll get the job done if you use it right.”  Dutch said. He planned on letting Arthur look over the selection of guns as Dutch scanned the tracks for dinner.

 

“No, this is the one you shot him with.  I recognize it.” Arthur said.

 

Dutch looked up, straightening his back and standing tall.  It was one of his father’s old revolvers. Guns he had gotten once his father died in the war, guns that had delicately engraved patterns on the side and shining silver plating.  It was an expensive gun, one of a set, one he always relied on.

 

And now Arthur was holding on in his hands, grip tight as he turned it over and inspected it, his finger nowhere close to the trigger.  Dutch let a bit of apprehension drain from him. If Arthur wanted to kill him, perhaps he wouldn’t have made it so obvious that he recognized the gun.

 

“It is.”  Dutch said, confirming it for him.

 

Arthur nodded, holding it back out to him.  “I don’t want that one.”

 

“That’s fine, I have others.  A couple of small revolvers if that’s what you would like.  And you should take a rifle too, just in case.” Dutch said.

 

“I still have the one you gave me before, when you guys went bank robbing.  Can’t I use that one?” Arthur asked.

 

“Absolutely.”  Dutch said. He had his own guns tucked away and Arthur had the one he wanted.  Small game it seemed. These guns were good for them, if they shot them in the right place to not ruin the good meat and pelt.

 

Arthur walked beside him, closer than he had allowed himself to get in days.  “Do you think I care too much about that?” He asked, whispering softly to Dutch.  “He wasn’t a good man, right?”

 

“Your father?”  Dutch asked. He didn’t need to wait for Arthur to respond, he could see it in his eyes.  “He wasn’t a good man. Neither are we. Neither are most. It’s okay to still care about him.  You can still be angry with me if you want, as long as you control that anger. You’re allowed to miss him.”

 

“But he was awful.  Always awful. I know what he did to that girl.  She’s why you killed him.” Arthur said.

 

They stopped moving and instead crouched side by side in the bushes, watching the water.  They could see a few deer a few yards away, mouths in the water, bodies bent towards the stream.  A doe like that would make a fine supper the next few days.

 

“I was hired to kill him, I didn’t much care what he had done.”  Dutch said.

 

“Is she okay?”

 

“She’s fine.”  Dutch looked away from the deer and back at Arthur.  His eyes were on the animals as well, watching them lift their heads and look around.  “I promise. I got paid at the end of the job, I saw her once it was done. The men who paid me cared about her.  She’s going to be fine.”

 

Arthur nodded.  “Do you think I should shoot them?”  He asked, still watching the deer, not letting his attention waiver from them for too long.

 

“I would recommend a rifle for them, unless you have damn good aim with that revolver.”  Dutch said. He reached up, tapped his finger against his eye. “Get them right here.”

 

Arthur watched them for a moment.  Dutch watched Arthur. He didn’t much care for the deer.  If they didn’t kill anything then they would have a supper of canned beans and potatoes.  Annabelle could make it work. They could try again tomorrow and keep following the road until they hit a town to buy a wagon or a fool to steal a horse from.

 

Arthur though, he needed to eat.  Still small, but his ribs were now covered by a comfortable layer of fat and his cheeks were full like a child’s should be.  He had been half starved when they found him. Dutch wanted Arthur to learn to hunt, even if he was with them for now it was important for a man to know how to get food.  Mostly, Dutch wanted to see if Arthur was okay. He looked him in the eyes, at the unwavering focus on the animals as Arthur slid the rifle off of his shoulder, loaded it how they had showed him, and raised it to aim at the deer.

 

And then the focus broke.  Arthur turned to look at Dutch, back at the deer, and lowered the weapon again.

 

“Maybe we should try for a rabbit again.”  Arthur said.

 

Dutch hummed, looking back at the deer.  Three of them, healthy animals by the looks of it.  They were done drinking, done with their time here at the stream and Dutch was tempted to pull out his own gun to get one.  Even the smaller one would be a good meal.

 

“Don’t be nervous about shooting at them.  Worst case scenario is you miss.” Dutch said.

 

Arthur shook his head.  “They look pretty like that.”  He said. Arthur smiled, a small and delicate expression as he shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t want to bother them.”

 

It was a ridiculous reason, but Arthur was smiling for the first time in a long time and Dutch would let that boy have about anything in the world he wanted if he kept smiling.  He reached over and smacked Arthur on the shoulder, giving him a hard pat on the back before Arthur pulled back from the touch. Dutch’s hand fell from the air, brushing over the now empty spot where the boy used to be.  Arthur had crept back out of the bushes and was walking quickly downstream towards the horses again.

 

“Alright, we can try to find another rabbit.  It’s gotta be fast though, it’ll be getting late soon and you know how Annabelle worries.”  Dutch said. He fell into step behind Arthur, following along quickly. “But remember not to completely destroy it when you shoot it.”

 

Arthur didn’t say a word as he got back to the horse and started looking through things.  They already had everything they needed, but if the boy wanted to go through it all again then Dutch would let him.  Arthur seemed intent on wasting time today and Dutch would give him as much as he needed.

 

“I miss my pa.”  Arthur said, his back to Dutch.  “But he was an awful, awful man.”

 

Dutch nodded to himself.  “Fathers are strange like that.  They could beat you half to death and you would still love them with all your heart.”

 

“Was yours like that?”  Arthur asked, finally turning around again to look at him.

 

This was the first time since had failed to send Arthur away that it was just the two of them.  The first time since Dutch had brought the drunken boy back since the two of them were able to have a moment one on one.  And it turned into wasted time and an unlucky hunting trip, but at least Arthur was talking to him. Maybe Hosea wanted Dutch to take him for the solitude, the chance to spend a few hours together without the watchful eye of the others in camp.  It did something for them, but Dutch couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

 

He was tempted to lie, to solidify whatever sort of bonding they had managed these past few hours.  But Dutch settled on truth. He didn’t want to lie to the boy anymore.

 

He shook his head.  “No, he wasn’t.” Dutch said.

 

Arthur hummed, nodding his head and turning back around again.

 

“Like you said, he was an awful man.  But he’s your father and it’s perfectly normal to miss him.  To grieve for him.” Dutch said.

 

“I ain’t mad about that anymore.  You killing him. I’m mad about the other stuff, real mad, but not about that.”  Arthur said. He sounded completely calm. Once the saddlebags were tied shut again, Arthur reached up to pat the horse.

 

It wasn’t forgiveness, but that wasn’t what Dutch was looking for.  The world was better off without Arthur’s father in it, the boy especially, but he was relieved that they could move past that incident and focus on the most recent one.  The abandonment, the orphanage, and the O’Driscolls. Dutch didn’t want to be forgiven for killing a boy’s father. He felt some bit of guilt for the grief he might have caused, but he wasn’t ashamed and he didn’t feel regret.  He didn’t want to be forgiven he wanted to be trusted again. Before this last big mistake broke it.

 

“You can be mad at us.  You’re allowed to be, but we’re going to make it up to you.  I promise that.” Dutch said. He wanted to reach out and pat Arthur on the back, to squeeze his shoulders and pull him close into a tight embrace.  “Now lets see if we can find you another rabbit. I want you to be a sharpshooter by the time we’re done and I can send you out hunting on your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress?
> 
> Some bonding over a hunting trip and Arthur may say hes not mad about that, but is he? Arthur doesnt seem happy, but he also doesnt seem entirely hostile either. Theor problems arent over yet


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a hot minute but I have been busy and stressed but all your comments do fuel me to keep writing. Thank you.

They all had different preferred methods to steal a horse.  Dutch prefered the more upfront approach, with a gun in hand and a constant reassurance that no one would be hurt as long as they got off of the saddle and backed away.  Hosea’s methods were more subtle. The man could fake a good limp, could mimic a perfect, terrified tremble in his voice and riders usually hopped off the horse to make sure he was okay.  The methods were different, but the outcomes were the same.

 

“The main things is to get the rider off the horse.  It doesn’t really matter how you do it as long as they’re down and you have a clear shot to get on and start riding away before they start shooting at you.”  Dutch said. The three of them sat in the bushes; the two men gave Arthur as many pieces of advice as they could. They had stolen a few dozen horses over the years, they were masters of the art.

 

“They’ll shoot me?”  Arthur said, peeking above the bushes to look at the road.  It wasn’t a busy road, which meant they had to wait for riders to come by but it also meant that they didn’t have to worry about anyone else interfering.  Dutch had picked it, telling Arthur everything he knew about successfully stealing a horse.

 

“Of course they will.  Or hang you if they get their hands on you.  Horse thievery is a very serious crime.” Dutch said.  

 

“But that won’t happen.”  Hosea cut in, his hand falling to Arthur’s shoulder.  “Here’s what we do. You and I walk up to the next person who passes us and tell them our wagon was stolen and we need help.  I’ll be some lonesome widower and you’re my unruly son, quiet and sad about the loss of his mother.”

 

“I’m what?”  Arthur asked, scrunching up his nose as Hosea laid forth a scheme, an act to put on while they were robbing some poor fool.

 

Dutch smiled to himself.  There was a strong temptation to reach out and squeeze Arthur’s other shoulder, but he didn’t think it would be met with the same resigned and silent acceptance as the gentle touch Hosea was giving him now.  It was unfortunate, but Dutch understood that he and Hosea were different in Arthur’s eyes, vastly different.

 

“I don’t think the boy is ready for your complex theatrics, my friend.”  Dutch said. He admired Hosea, turning everything into an elaborate con, an act to perform until they go paid.  If a life as a thief didn’t claim him first, Dutch was certain Hosea would have ended up in some theatre troop or carnival act.  “Let’s focus on teaching Arthur the basics of horse stealing for now and let you and I follow through with your character backstories and money making ideas.”

 

“Next time then.”  Hosea said.

 

“What are we talking about?”  Arthur cut in, his attention shifting between Dutch and Hosea, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

Dutch took a chance and reached out, giving Arthur’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and pulling away again.  The boy had tensed, but didn’t say a thing about it.

 

“Nothing you should concern yourself with.  Hosea just has dreams of being a clown and is ready to start putting on a show.”  Dutch said.

 

Arthur was at least smiling.  He may still be unhappy with them, but they were able to humor him.  Arthur was stubborn and seemed to hold on to his anger, but Dutch knew the boy was a survivor.  He was full of distrust and in a world full of people like him and the boy’s father it was probably better for someone like Arthur to be wary.  Still, they made the boy smile and if Hosea kept up with his act then there would be no time at all before they got Arthur to laugh.

 

It was a quiet afternoon.  It reminded Dutch why he loved the country so much.  There was no black smog from the factories of the city, there were no crowds of people to weave through.  It was just them, a few men and women out in the open country. They were in the freest part of the world and it was far from civilization.  They were teaching a boy to steal a horse and once they made off with it then no one would ever catch them. Not even the long arm of the Government could reach them the farther West they went.

 

The boy wasn’t patient.  He didn’t seem to enjoy the quiet emptiness of the country as much as the two older men did, but he was restless with youth and they would have time to teach him to love it.  It was a while before anyone came down this small side road and Arthur was getting restless. He wiggled and shifted in his spot, grabbing handfuls of pebbles and tossing them out into the road.  They were supposed to be hiding, but it didn’t matter if Arthur threw rocks into the road because there was no one around to see.

 

“It would be easier to just head into a town and buy the boy a horse.”  Dutch said.

 

“Hosea shook his head.  “We’re not teaching the boy to buy things, we’re teaching him to steal things.”

 

There was a time and place for everything, buying and stealing included.  There would be time to teach Arthur how to look for it, how to steal from people walking around with too much in their pockets but also buy and help people struggling to get by.  Today wasn’t a day for morality lessons, today was the day for robbing horses. Once Arthur had one of his own, one he could take care of and handle on his own, then they would take him into some frontier town nearby and show him the wonders of purchasing things from small shopkeepers.

 

“There’s one.”  Arthur muttered quickly, his hand shooting out in front of him to point at a spot coming down the road.  A lone rider heading towards them.

 

“Okay, Arthur.  Here’s what you gotta do,”  Dutch said. He reached out and grabbed Arthur’s shoulders, leaning in close to speak fast and clear in his ear.  “Just get him off the horse, hop on, and go. All you have to do is make sure he gets out of that saddle and you have enough time to get on there and go.”

 

He let go of Arthur’s shoulders, slightly pushing him towards the road and out of the bushes where they were crouched and hiding.  He wasn’t nervous, not about one rider in the middle of nowhere, not for the boy to be able to handle himself. He had no reason to be afraid, if it all went wrong then they could still get away with the horse, Dutch just wanted Arthur to handle it himself.

 

The boy stumbled as he rushed out onto the road, looking over his shoulder for just a moment and then turning all of his attention to the approaching stranger, trotting down the path towards them.  The two men waited to see what Arthur’s tactic would be, if he listened to any of the advice they had been rambling into his ear for the past few hours.

 

“Sir, can you help me?”  Arthur called out when the rider got close.  A man, a bit unstable in the saddle, leaning too far off to his right, but he slowed down when Arthur approached him.  Arthur kept talking, the words slow and uncertain. “I’m lost. Can you help me get to town?”

 

Hosea puffed with pride next to him and Dutch could only roll his eyes.  A poorly prepared backstory by a boy who had clearly never tried being an actor before.

 

“Help you get to town?”  The man asked. There was a noticeable slur in his voice, a stumble over his words, and Dutch knew he was drunk.  Arthur could practically walk off with the horse if that was the case. “So… you want a ride or something? It’s that way.”  The man pointed at the road behind him. “I ain’t going back that way. Walk, you can do that.”

 

It was silent for a moment, Arthur’s head tilted up to look at the man on the horse.  Dutch saw the tension in his back, his muscles tight and his shoulders raising high. Arthur didn’t move for few seconds, not until the man leaned over a bit more to spit at Arthur’s feet.

 

He moved fast.  Arthur’s hands curled into the man’s shirt and yanked him off the horse and onto the ground.  It would be enough. Dutch knew the man was drunk, knew he hadn’t been expecting to get thrown off of his horse by a teenage boy on the side of the road, but he still moved surprisingly quick.  His hand shot out, wrapped around Arthur’s ankle as the boy had lifted one leg up to the saddle, and pulled hard causing Arthur to tumble to the ground as well.

 

“Fucking piece of shit!”  The drunk man shouted, rolling to try and pin Arthur down.

 

Dutch moved first, Hosea close behind him, out of the bushes and into the open.  He hadn’t expected the man to fight back, to have fast enough reflexes, even drunk, to fight back against Arthur after being thrown to the ground. He was terrified, imagining any kind of knife or gun the drunken man had hidden on him that could use to hurt their boy.  It didn’t last. Before they even made it across the road, Arthur had gotten on top. He rolled, pinning the man under him, and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Then Arthur started beating him, fist pulled back and then slamming down again and again, each one accompanied by an angry grunt.

 

Hosea stepped forward, hands outstretched, but Dutch stopped him with a firm hand to his chest.  “Wait.” Dutch said. Arthur had it handled. His knuckles smashing against the drunk man’s mouth.  Blood smeared over Arthur’s fist and the man’s face and it was hard to tell who was bleeding. Both of them probably, from busted knuckles and a busted face.

 

Arthur didn’t stop, not until the man stopped struggling against him.  Arthur stopped after a few more moments, his whole body shaking and his arms losing most of their strength.  He dropped the man onto the ground, unconscious but breathing. Arthur didn’t look away from the man. His chest rose and fell in desperate, heaving gasps.  The horse whined loudly, backing away from all the men slowly, but didn’t got too far.

 

“You alright, son?”  Dutch asked.

 

Arthur’s eyes snapped up, zeroing in on the two of them.  His eyes shifted between Dutch and Hosea, his nose wrinkling and he clenched his jaw as he reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his clean hand.

 

“He started it.”  Arthur said, a slight tremble in his voice.

 

“Sure he did.”  Dutch lied. Arthur started it when he had thrown the man onto the ground, but it didn’t matter.  None of it mattered. No one had died, the horse was theirs for the taking, and Arthur managed it without any help, though it wasn’t what any of them expected.

 

“You told me to get him off the horse.”  Arthur said quickly. He pointed at the man on the ground.  “The drunken bastard swung first.”

 

Arthur was trying to explain himself.  He spoke fast, his body fidgeting as he shifted from foot to foot and shook his bloody hand at his side.  His eyes darted to Hosea when the man moved to calm the horse.

 

“I know he did, Arthur.  You did fine. Let’s get you and the horse home and get you cleaned up.  Come on, son.” Dutch said. He looked back down at the unconscious man and made sure he was breathing.  He patted Arthur on the back, leading him to the horse that they had claimed for him.

 

Hosea took over, one hand patting the Horse’s nose and the other reaching out to bring Arthur closer.  Dutch went to the man still laying in the dirt and began rummaging through his pockets. He found a letter, a gold wedding ring, and fifteen dollars.  Not a bad haul for a drunk bastard they found riding down a country road. He dragged the man off to the side of the road, into the bushes where no one would mess with him, no one would accidentally trample him, and he would wake up groggy and confused and likely pissed off.

 

“Time to go, boys.”  Dutch said, he brought his fingers to his lips and whistled for his own horse.  “What do you think of it?”

 

Arthur was patting the horse, leaning in close to it and smiling.  “I like her.” He said firmly. She was a fine horse, light brown hair and a long dark main.  The saddle looked decent and they could rummage through the saddlebags later. Arthur could have his pick of anything he found inside, the rest they could sell when they go into town for a wagon and some supplies.

 

“What are you going to name her?”  Hosea asked.

 

“I don’t know yet.”  Arthur said. The boy was happy, grinning from ear to ear as he got settled on the saddle.  “She’s mine though, right? Mine forever?”

 

“Yes, Arthur.  You did all the work, you get the reward.”  Hosea said.

 

As they started to make their way away from the unconscious man and any signs of a scuffle, away from the crime scene and into the wilderness off towards camp, Hosea gave Dutch a curious look.  The older man’s brows were furrowed, a slight frown set on his face. It had been more violent than they expected. Arthur beat the man until he knocked him out, his own hand still bleeding slowly and dripping down his fingers.  It had been angry and near senseless, like the wild and jumpy boy they had picked up originally who hardly said a thing and threatened them all with a knife when he was startled.

 

Anger was a good thing in Dutch’s opinion.  Anger was useful, aggression was useful, and he just needed to teach Arthur to control it.  Violence had its time and place out here after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So feel free to throw out your ideas on what Arthur should name his horse and maybe leave a nice comment too??


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive been very busy the past few weeks and I apologize.

They set up camp a mile out from a small town.  Civilization quickly became scarce when they made it to these far off places out West, but there were still a few towns.  They were mostly just a few shops huddled around a post office, a sheriff’s office, and, if they were lucky, a bank. All of it to cater to the local ranchers, farmers, and anyone living in that small town.

 

They each took their horse into town, Dutch riding in with Annabelle and Hosea with Arthur an hour later, looking like two separate families instead of one large group of strange coming in all at once.  They were lucky to come across this place, a small bank tucked in between the general store and the saloon, everything they needed right next to one another. If they could find someplace or someone to buy a wagon from they could just load up on supplies from the general store, load up on bags from the bank, and ride off with a few bottles of whiskey if there was time for it.

 

There wasn’t a stable in sight to buy a wagon from, but there were plenty of local ranches, farms, and homesteads.  Plenty of people to buy one off of if he asked the right people or steal one from someone who had a few too many in their possession.  If they were going to go any farther, where towns become so scarce that living and dying became a matter of preporation and dumb luck, then they needed a wagon full of provisions.

 

“Annabelle, you and Arthur go ask around town about to see if there are any wagons for sale.  Look for any leads if you can, we might want to work a few jobs here if we can find them. Hosea and I will talk to the ranchers we come across.  Meet back here at sundown.” Dutch said. He leaned in and gave Annabelle a quick peck on her cheek.

 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”  She said, sliding her arm around Arthur’s and pulling the boy off towards the general store with their horses in tow.

 

Dutch watched them go, knowing full well that they were only headed that way because the general store was next to the saloon and both of them would likely have a drink or two regardless of if Dutch was going to buy a round or not.  Annabelle could drink with the rest of them, sometimes more than the rest of them if she was having a good day. Arthur was a kid, a foolish kid who had already gone into the bottle and Dutch didn’t know if that was a one time thing or not.

 

It didn’t really matter.  Arthur was fourteen, probably not far off from fifteen, and out here no one cared if he drank or not as long as he was kept under control.  Dutch smiled and shook his head, the thought of being able to control Arthur more hilarious than it should be. The one time he had seen the boy get blackout drunk they ended up in a jail cell and Arthur got his face half bashed in by a signpost.

 

“What are you thinking about, Dutch?”  Hosea called out to him, further on down the road.

 

Dutch had unknowingly slowed down to a lazy walk, too lost in thought to really notice.  He flicked his reigns and willed his horse to catch up. “Nothing, just Arthur.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about him too.  That mess the other day got out of hand.”  Hosea said when Dutch fell into step beside him.

 

“Got out of hand?”  Dutch repeated, turning his attention to Hosea.

 

The older man nodded, the reigns held tightly in his hands as he rubbed the leather between his fingers.  “Yes. It got out of hand. I understand the need to rough a man up a bit when you’re robbing him, but the fool was drunk.  He may have started it but Arthur didn’t give him a chance to do much else.”

 

“The boy did fine, Hosea.  In case you haven’t noticed, sometimes robbing turns into a fistfight.  We’re lucky no one tried to pull a gun.” Dutch said.

 

“It was needless, Dutch!”  Hosea snapped, leaning forward on his horse as they made their way faster down the road.  This was a land of rolling hills, of green grass and small forests, getting closer and closer to the long and barren stretches of deserts and dense forests.  It was good cattle country here, it shouldn’t be long until they found a ranch and both men kept their eyes out for any sign of one.

 

“It wasn’t needless.  It was necessary.” Dutch said as they rounded a curve on the road.  “We want that boy working jobs and he’s got to be ready and willing to fight in case things get messy.”

 

“That wasn’t a fight.  That was a drunken fool trying not to get robbed and then Arthur nearly beating him to death when he was down.  That was brutal. I just don’t want Arthur to become a killer over a damn horse.” Hosea said.

 

Dutch pulled back on the reigns, slowing his horse down to a casual walk and moving slowly through the woods.  Hosea was right. Arthur had gone a bit far, beating the man bloody without a sign of stopping. There was too much anger in him, anger that almost went a bit too far, and Dutch had watched it happen.  He had watched the violence pulse through Arthur to the point it almost crossed a line. The drunk may have been an ass, but that didn’t deserve killing.

 

Still, Dutch couldn’t bring himself to want to do anything about it.  He was tempted to let Arthur’s anger fester inside of him, turn it sour and spoiled until the next job they went on that required some brute force they could just point Arthur in that direction.

 

“He’s angry.”  Dutch said finally.

 

Hosea scoffed.  “I know he’s angry.  Doesn’t change anything.  You’re the one who was so worried about him killing you, maybe you should be worried some of that anger is for you.”

 

That was a real concern, one that Dutch hadn’t considered.  He had taken Arthur’s words at face value when they went hunting.  Arthur had said that he wasn’t angry about his father anymore, which could obviously be seen as a lie if he thought too much on it.  But even if Arthur had been telling the truth, all that anger had to be let out somewhere and somehow. Before they left him, before they broke some thin veil of trust they had with him, Arthur was quiet and obedient and now he was just full of so much rage it was a miracle he took it out on a stranger instead of one of them.

 

“We just need to teach him how to use it.  How to control himself before this gets out of hand.”  Dutch said. 

 

Hosea agreed.  It hadn’t become a problem yet, and Dutch saw the uses in it, but Hosea always had a bit more foresight in things.  He saw the danger in leaving it unattended to. Dutch had seen anger destroy people, but they were outlaws and there were plenty of ways some violent rage building up was useful.  They just needed to find the right jobs for it.

 

They made it to a ranch in some barren part of the hills, long stretches of grass with few bushes or trees.  There were large wooden fences that surrounded the property, livestock that Dutch had a small thought of stealing, if he knew anything at all to do with a few cows.  There were small shacks and huts towards the edge of the property, where the trees had been pushed back to. There were stumps sticking out of the ground the farther from the center of the ranch they were, some with axes and piles of firewood.

 

The ranch had a main house at the center of it, a few yards from a barn and outhouse and stable.  And there were a few wagons lined up around the barn, good looking wagons with large beds. Perfect for two good horses to pull.

 

“Gentlemen.”  A man called out to them from the porch of the house and Dutch raised a hand in greeting.

 

“Good afternoon, sir.  This is such a fine home you all have built for yourselves.  It’s such a wonderful thing to see people thriving out here on the land.”  Dutch said, his voice picking up a cheerful note. He smiled, big and wide and he hoped in a way that seemed friendly enough.

 

“What can we do for you?”  The man said.

 

Dutch saw the way the man stood.  Still high up on his porch, his hand resting on his belt, beady eyes staring down at them.  There was a woman sitting directly behind him, sitting in a rocking chair with a rifle across her lap.  They were people expecting to be robbed, untrusting and stern. Dutch raised his hands a bit, showing them empty as he shrugged.

 

“My brother and I were looking for a wagon to buy.  We want to pack some supplies so we can take our families out West.  We just thought we would ask around.” Dutch said.

 

The man on the porch looked at them for a moment, eyes sliding over the two of them before he shrugged his shoulders and started making his way down the steps towards them.  “You brought your families out here?”

 

“Yes, his wife and my son.  We’re all just looking for a fresh start.”  Hosea said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched.  The stranger looked at it a moment and then removed his hand from his belt to shake Hosea’s hand.  “We would pay good money for one, if you were willing to part with it.

 

“How old is your boy?”  The man asked.

 

“About to turn fifteen.  He looks a bit small for his age though.”  Hosea said.

 

The man looked back over his shoulder towards the house.  The woman in her rocking chair nodded her head. “How small is the boy?”

 

“Why do you ask?”  Dutch said, cutting in.

 

“Well, sir, we have a few foxes.  Some of my boys thinks they have a den or a nest or something in one of the nearby caves.  Entrance is too small for any of my men to get into. If your boy is small enough to get in there and deal with the beasts for me, I’ll sell you a wagon.  At a good price too.” The man said.

 

“What’s the price?”  Dutch asked. It was very likely that his definition of a good price was different from this man’s.  He had an idea that as an outlaw with a few thousand dollars to his name because of a bank robbery and a man in a fancy house and a large ranch had drastically different ideas on what a good price was.

 

“Any price you want Mister.  I have more wagons than the ranch needs, my wife is getting pretty mad about her eggs getting eaten, and if the foxes snatch up one of her prize hens then she’ll kill us all.”  The man said, cracking a smile for the first time in the conversation.

 

Dutch turned to Hosea, raising an eyebrow in question.  Hosea nodded and shrugged his shoulders. A woman's rage was good enough reason to make stupid bargains with strangers who wandered into their property.  Hosea stepped forward, the father in this situation, offering up his small son to crawl into the caves in exchange for a cheap wagon. Dutch watched as Hosea shook the man’s hand, agreeing to the arrangement.

 

“Meet me here sometime in the afternoon, I’ll take you up to the caves when you're ready.”  The man said.

 

They shook hands and went their separate ways.  Dutch was mostly satisfied with the arrangement.  It was a chore really. They could bring Arthur up this was soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still taking votes on what Arthur should name his horse. I heard a few good ones


End file.
